


When a door closes

by oooknuk



Series: Beginnings [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: Fraser and Ray meet for the first time - in Norman Wells. And someone is on the trail of his father's killer





	When a door closes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters you recognise will belong to Alliance. No infringement of copyright intended.   
> Not for profit. 
> 
> Warnings: Language, m/m, violence. This is an AU where Fraser and Ray meet for the first time in Norman Wells. Fraser has never been to Chicago. 
> 
> Author's note: I've never been to Norman Wells, even though this is the second time I've set a story there. If someone will buy me a ticket, I'd be happy to visit. Charlie's bar doesn't exist, but the Islay malts are as good as he says.

The circumstances of our first meeting were not, as I recall, particularly auspicious. I was working the late shift that week, and took the long way back to my building to allow Diefenbaker to exercise after several hours of confinement in the headquarters building. The main street was largely empty, but I kept a practised ear out for the sounds of alcohol-related exuberance - or worse - which is the basis of 99% of the crime we experience here in Norman Wells. But that night all was quiet, and I was looking forward to my supper and a quiet evening reading the latest gazette. As I passed Macdonald's Bar, the owner, Charlie, saw me through the large picture window, and nodded his head, a signal that my presence would be welcome but that it was not imperative. I stepped through the doors and made my way into the bar, where Charlie was just closing up.

"Evening, Ben. I was hoping I'd catch you passing by."

"Good evening to you, Charlie. Is there a problem?" I asked quietly. He gave a quick jerk of his head, towards the corner of the room where a man was sitting hunched over a table. I quickly realised the difficulty. Loneliness and homesickness are common problems up here, and equally common is the attempt to ease the pain through drinking. Charlie is a kindly and a sympathetic Scotsman, and provided they don't turn violent, or make a nuisance of themselves, he is usually content to let his customers drown their sorrows and get home under their own steam when they are ready. Occasionally, as seemed to be the case tonight, the lonely drinker is reluctant to leave the womb-like atmosphere of the bar. Charlie and I have an informal arrangement whereby I ease the man out, and Charlie doesn't report him to the oil company, our main employer up here. Charlie can take care of himself, but our teamwork has averted many a potentially dangerous situation, and I like it that he trusts me enough to deal with his customers. I nodded to him, made my way over to the solitary figure, and sat down opposite him. He didn't acknowledge me.

"Good evening."

He lifted his blond head, and looked at me with dazed blue eyes. "Who the hell are you? The Army?" The voice was American.

"No, actually, I'm RCMP. Constable Benton Fraser, at your service. And you are?"

He ignored the question. "Mounties. That's like the cops, right?"

"Yes, that is correct. We, that is, the RCMP, is the police force for the Northwest Territories. Sir, I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but you see, the gentleman who owns this establishment would like to close up for the night, so if you wouldn't mind...."

"They all talk like you up here? Polite? That a Mountie thing?" He wasn't belligerent, but his slurred voice and the slight weaving of his head made it perfectly clear that whatever I was saying to him was being filtered through large quantities of alcohol. That was fine. I was, and am, well used to dealing with the consequences of alcohol consumption even though I don't, myself, imbibe.

"I like to think all my fellow officers hold to common standards of courtesy, Mr ..."

He blinked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. "Why are you talking to me, Mountie man?"

"Sir, the bar is closing. You really have to leave." To my surprise, he immediately struggled to his feet, unsteadily and with difficulty, but with no sign that he intended to delay his departure. He fumbled for the big leather jacket that was hooked on the back of his chair, and finally I had to help him on with it. That earned me a dazzling, if somewhat crooked, smile. I clasped his arm firmly and helped him stand and walk. Suddenly he struggled against my grip, and I worried for a minute that he was, after all, going to be a problem. But he merely stumbled his way back to the bar and placed a note onto it in front of Charlie.

"That enough?" he asked Charlie.

"Yes, son. More than enough."

"S'all right. Keep the change," he mumbled, and staggered back over to me, giving me another grin.

"Home, James," he said grandly, hanging onto my arm. He really was having difficulty walking, or even staying upright, and I realised I would have to see him all the way home in order to satisfy my conscience. The cold air hit him hard, and I saw for the first time that his clothes were singularly unsuitable for the fall weather. The leather coat was lined, but he had only a single layer on underneath it. That settled it. If I abandoned him, he would very likely fall asleep in the open, and I would be completing a report on a hypothermia death in the morning.

"Sir, if you'll just..."

"Not sir ... Ray. Ray Kowalski." He freed himself from the tangle of my arm. "Nice ta meet ya, Mountie." He stuck out his hand, and I shook it.

"Well, Ray, as I said before, I'm Benton Fraser...."

"Benton ... what the hell sort of name is that? Bendon ... Button ...Bendover. You musta had fun at school, did ya?"

"Actually, no. I was educated at home."

He seemed inclined to continue his fact-finding before moving on, and I felt, oddly, no impatience. "What did y'r mum call ya? Ben? Benny?"

"Ben, mostly. My father calls me Benton."

"My mum called me Stanley."

"Isn't that rather odd?" I asked, interested despite myself.

"Nah. That's my name. Stanley Raymond Kowalski. Dad liked Brando. I heard all the jokes, before you start. I go by Ray."

I was intrigued. Despite his slurring speech, the mind behind the fogged blue eyes seemed sharp and I began to wonder if he had consumed quite as much alcohol as I had assumed.

"Okay, Ray. Where are you staying? Or do you work for the oil company?"

"Nah. Don't work. Got no job. Staying in my car."

He had again taken my arm and we were making steady, if somewhat wavering, progress along the street.

"In your car? That must be uncomfortable. Do you sleep well?"

"Don't sleep. Can't sleep. Gotta... gotta keep going.... Gotta move..." Suddenly, with an apparently vast effort, he pulled away from me, and stood upright. "I got it, Ben. I'm good. I can do this now. Thanks." He stuck his hand out again, and I was struck by the firmness of his grasp, and the strength that lay in his long, slender fingers which curled around mine in a curiously intimate way. "Be seeing ya round, Mountie." He staggered off in a determined fashion. I watched him go, but after he stumbled for the third time in ten yards, I caught up with him, and grabbed him firmly once more.

"I think, Ray, you will find you will get back to your vehicle more quickly if I assist you." To be honest, I was not happy with his chosen form of accommodation. Strictly speaking, he was breaking the law by even being in his vehicle in his state, and besides, with the weather turned sharply cold, I suspected the shelter it would give to a inebriated man was little better than an unheated tent. "Listen, why don't you book a room in a hotel for tonight? You'll be more comfortable...."

"No can do, buddy. I'm broke now - that was my last ten. Lost my wallet, lost my credit cards. Gotta keep going... can't stop." His drunkenness was slipping away with every word, but he still swayed like a leaf in the wind. Something was not right here. He had said he wasn't sleeping - how long had this been going on?

I made a decision, which, in the retelling, sounds utterly reckless, but which, in hindsight, was entirely serendipitous. "Ray, would you like to stay at my place tonight? I have three bedrooms."

He squinted at me. "You asking me to stay the night with you, Mountie? You don't know me from shit."

"Nevertheless, Ray, " I said, refusing to allow him to pull out of my grip, taking the gamble that he was far too tired and intoxicated to make serious resistance, "I feel it is my duty to offer you assistance, and as I can't in all conscience permit you to stay in your car in your condition, and you can't afford a hotel..."

"I ain't drunk, Mountie. And I don't need your charity neither."

He stood firmly in place, preventing my attempts to tug him along.

"Ray, consider it a favour to me. I don't want to have to explain to my superior why I allowed a visitor to our town, one in need of assistance because of circumstances beyond his control, to stay in an uncomfortable and unheated vehicle when I have ample room in my own dwelling."

He processed this argument, then cocked a head at me. "You're real sneaky, ain't ya, Ben. Okay, you win. Lead on, MacDuff."

It was only a short distance to my house, and Ray put up no resistance to our progress, keeping his head down and watching his steps carefully. Strangely, I could smell little alcohol on him, and I wondered anew just how many of his symptoms were caused by intoxication and how many resulted from simple exhaustion. As I reached my front door, Diefenbaker re-appeared beside us and enthusiastically greeted my visitor with applications of tongue and saliva in a way that only large canine animals can manage. Ray fended him off as best he could.

"Dief! Get off him," I said sternly, and was ignored, as usual.

"What the hell is that, Ben? You got a dog that eats people?"

"He's a wolf, actually. His name is Diefenbaker."

"A wolf? Does he always do that?"

"No. I think he likes you." Dief had calmed down by that point, and rather to my surprise, Ray crouched down and started scratching my wolf behind his ears, much to Dief's evident approval.

"Nice do...wolf."

"He can't hear you. He's deaf."

Ray squinted up at me and grinned. "You got a deaf wolf called Dief-Barker? That's not very nice, for a Canadian." I helped him stand, and forbore to explain that Dief's name was that of a former prime minister of our country and was in no way a comment on the wolf's disability. I help Ray through the front door, down the hall, and into the living room, where I switched on the light. He found the armchair and sat heavily in it, squinting in the brightness and looking at me in confused expectation.

"I'll just find you some bedding..."

"Nah. I'm good. I can sleep here, Benton buddy." Indeed he looked close to falling asleep in the chair, but I couldn't allow that - from my own experience, I knew the old armchair did not make a comfortable place to sleep. I quickly made up one of the spare rooms, and returned to my guest.

"Come on, Ray. The bed's made." I hauled him up, and pushed him into the bedroom. Once there he turned to me, and stuck out his hand again.

"You're a good man, Benton Fraser. Thanks." The formality of his gratitude was a little at odds with his swaying stance and still blurred speech, but when I took his hand, he grasped it firmly, enough to again feel the strength behind the graceful fingers and the arm. He held it for a second or two longer than was strictly necessary, then set it free. "Off you go, Ben. Time for good little Mounties to hit the sack." He shucked off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. I couldn't resist picking it up and hanging it behind the door, which earned me a wry grin. He waved me out, and the last I saw was him sitting on the bed, pulling his shoes off. I closed the door.

 

* * *

The disadvantage of the late shift for me is that, regardless of how long I may be able, or want, to stay in bed, my wolf has very fixed ideas about exercise and urination, and insists on being taken out by six a.m. at the latest. In truth, it is good for me, because I get my exercise whether I feel I want it or not. I slipped out quietly and used the opportunity to scout out my strange visitor's car. I found it soon enough, as there were very few vehicles with which I was unfamiliar in the town, and only one with an American license plate - an early model Pontiac, totally unsuitable for roads up here. I could see there was little in the way of luggage in the car, and that it was intact and safely parked. Ray could collect it later.

When I returned home, the door of the bedroom where he had been sleeping was open, and I deduced he had found the bathroom, a fact confirmed shortly after my arrival by his emergence from it, wrapped only in a bath towel. I am afraid I was rather rude and stared, but I had good reason. I had long ago accepted that I was as drawn to the beauties of the male form as much as to the female, and, seen in the early morning light, he was a sight to behold - lean, muscular body, long well formed legs, smooth tawny skin, disordered hair that somehow suited his angular face. He mistook my admiration for disapproval.

"Sorry, Fraser - I borrowed your towel. Couldn't stand my smell any more."

I put a hand out to stop his apology. "Not at all, Ray. I meant to put one out for you last night, but it was so late, and you were..."

"I wasn't drunk, if that's what you thought. I only had three shots." He said this mildly, as if he understood why I might think otherwise, but it confirmed my earlier suspicions. "I just hadn't had a good night's sleep in ... in about a week, I think."

"You think?"

"Yeah. A week, maybe more. Let me get dressed, I'll get out of your hair."

"Wait," I said, too quickly, and he turned back from his movement towards the bathroom. "You could have some breakfast before you go. You said you were broke?"

He gave me a crooked smile. "Ol' blabber mouth Kowalski strikes again. Yeah, I'm broke, and I ain't too proud to eat your food, Fraser. I'll pay you back..."

"You'll do no such thing. Hospitality is a long and noble tradition here in the Territories. I'd do the same for anyone." But perhaps with not so much pleasure, I thought. This man was beginning to get under my skin in a most unusual way for an acquaintance of just under eight hours. I really had to get a grip on myself. "Why don't you..." I indicated the towel.

"Okay. Back in a tick."

I busied myself making a rather larger breakfast than I was wont to have, guessing that sleep may not have been the only thing Ray had stinted on in the past week-maybe-more. He returned to the living room, still drying his hair, and making it stick up even more wildly. He had a three-day-old stubble, which only served to emphasise the angularity of his features and the luminosity of his eyes. I was beginning to lapse into a most regrettable way of thinking of this man, I realised, and made an effort to stop staring and behave in a normal, host-like manner.

"Pancakes and syrup?" I asked.

"You got any coffee?"

"Sorry - only tea."

He made a face, and sighed resignedly. "Okay - still caffeine. Lots of sugar, right?"

"I have that as well, yes."

He came into the kitchen area and put the kettle on to boil, and began to hunt for cups and tea makings. I was slightly taken aback at the ease with which he was making my home his own, and he seemed to realise this from the awkward way I was attempting to avoid bumping into him.

"Uh, sorry - I'm butting in."

I shook myself mentally. "No, not at all. Go ahead. My home is yours."

"They say, 'mi casa e su casa' down south - same thing. You always this friendly? I could be a thief or an axe murderer or anything."

Americans, I thought ruefully. "Well, I have very little that you would want to steal, and Diefenbaker would probably stop you anyway. And if you are indeed an axe murderer, you seemed to have mislaid your weapon."

He cocked his head at me and grinned. "You're a funny guy, Ben. I coulda left my axe in my car ... oh shit, my car!" He looked as if he was going to find his coat and leave, but I grabbed his arm.

"It's okay, Ray. I checked it this morning - black Pontiac, yes?" He nodded. "It's fine, all in one piece. You can get it later."

He relaxed, and collapsed onto a kitchen chair. "Thanks. That was pretty dumb of me last night."

I made no answer to that - he was fully aware of the risk he had taken. I served up a plate full of pancakes to him as he sat at the small table, then poured boiling water on a teabag in a mug and passed it to him. As I was putting sugar, syrup and milk out, I asked casually, "So what are you doing here in Norman Wells?"

He didn't answer the question immediately, and I detected a slight increase in tension, which he masked almost successfully by fiddling with the breakfast things and then applying syrup to his pancake stacks. "Hey, these are good," he said, overly enthusiastically, immediately setting up alarm bells. I wondered if in fact Ray was on the run from the law, although his apparent ease around a RCMP officer seemed to contradict that possibility.

I persisted. "Are you on vacation?"

He laid his fork down but didn't look at me. "No. You knew that already, didn't you?" He lifted his head, and again I was struck by the expressiveness of his eyes, which were now filled with pain and resignation, making me feel like an intruder upon private sorrow.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" I asked, as gently as I could.

"No. Had all the trouble before I came up." I opened my mouth to ask for more information, but he forestalled me with a raised hand. "Don't go getting all official on me, Fraser. I'm not on the run. I used to be a cop, ain't that a laugh and a half?"

I was surprised, and said so. "A police officer? Where?"

"Chicago. Quit six months ago."

"May I ask why?"

He snorted. "Nosy *and* polite - that's a hell of a combination. Yeah, I'll tell you - why not. Someone died 'cos of me."

Ah. He wouldn't be the first cop to be destroyed by a death resulting from an act committed in the line of duty - God knows, I nearly was. "Was it accidental?"

My question surprised him. "You think I shot somebody? Wish I had. I could almost live with that, if it was me that did it. But I had to let the state do it for me. I was just the first link in a long line that got an innocent woman executed. Beth Botrelle got a needle stuck in her arm, and there wasn't nothing I could do about it." His hunched shoulders and his sudden interest in the cooling food in front of him spoke of intense emotion, tightly held in.

The rawness of his pain and his guilt was so blatant, I hardly knew what to say and could only state the obvious. "Someone you arrested received the death penalty?"

"Yeah. Cop's wife. Killed her husband, so they said. I found the body. She was in the house, her prints were on the gun - but I knew she couldn't have done it. She was a good woman, really kind. Something stunk about the whole thing, but the case was open and shut. I tried to get the investigation reopened, but the order came down from on high to leave it. Bad publicity, they said. Couldn't get anywhere with it, on my own. I talked to her the day before she died - turned in my badge the morning after."

"I can't see how her death could be your fault, Ray."

"You don't understand, Fraser." His voice was bleak. "I ... I was just a rookie, first time dealing with a murder. I screwed up, I moved evidence at the scene. Contaminated it. I can't prove it, but I just know if I hadn't done that, Beth Botrelle would be alive and free. I can't explain it, but I just know it. Gut instinct. But it's too late for her. Too late for me."

The silence went on and on. He stared steadfastly at his cup of tea, and I felt for his anguish, so unrelieved, so unassuagable. But at last I had to ask. "So, after you left the force...?"

He pulled himself together. "After that, then I went into partnership with my dad. He always hated me being in the PD anyway, and he made me a partner in his repair shop. We were working on classic cars, like my GTO. Made a decent living out of it, too."

"Made?"

"He's dead. He...." his voice trailed off, and he returned to watching his mug. Then, suddenly he looked at me, almost angrily. "Shit, you don't need to hear all this, Fraser. You only offered me a place to sleep for the night. I'll be going now." He made to stand.

"No, Ray, finish your breakfast. Tell me about your father, I want to know."

He sat down, and pushed the pieces of pancake around on his plate without attempting to eat them. "Dad was killed...murdered. He ... There was a fire. It looked like an accident - you know car workshops, lots of grease and oil and stuff - and they thought he died in it. But then they found out he was dead before the fire started - he had a fractured skull - and that the fire was arson. Mum... she had to identify the body - took it real hard. She wasn't in too good a shape anyway, and she had a stroke that night. And then the following night, in the hospital... she had another one. They said...they said... she was a vegetable. I told them to turn off the machines."

"When?" I asked quietly.

"Two weeks ago. Her funeral was three weeks after Dad's." I put my hand on his arm, trying to offer sympathy, when words were so inadequate. He refused to look at me, hiding his grief-filled eyes. Finally I understood why he was in the state he was, last night.

His tea had gone cold, so I got up and reboiled the kettle, and brought over a fresh cup. I added the three spoons of sugar, and dash of milk, as I had seen him do. As I pushed it in front of him, and removed the plate, he looked at me, and gave me a bright smile that clearly cost him an effort.

"Sorry, Fraser. You didn't know what you took on last night, did you?"

"There's nothing to apologise for, Ray. Any regret I have is that you have had to endure it."

"You mean that, Ben?"

"Of course. The loss of one, let alone two, parents, in such a short space of time, must have been a terrible blow. So is that why you came up here?"

This almost amused him. "Persistent, ain't ya? Always get your man, and all that?" I didn't bother to correct the common misconception about the RCMP motto. "You could say I came up here because of that, yeah. Listen, you got time for this? Haven't you got to get to work?"

"My shift starts at noon, and yes, I have time, and I would like to hear the rest of your story - if you don't mind telling me."

"No, I don't mind. Maybe you can help - no one else seems to be able to." He took a swig from his tea. "Hey, that's just right - how'd you do that?"

"Observation, Ray. You were saying?"

"Yeah. Okay. Well, going back to Dad. The PD got no leads on it at all. The only guy we could come up with who had a motive had a cast-iron alibi."

"Which was?"

Ray gave a humourless laugh. "See, that's the best part about this - he was here, in Norman Wells, getting grilled by you guys about a hunting party accident."

"The Polansky death? Your suspect was in that party? Who?"

"Mike Thompson."

I nodded. I remembered him clearly, as it was my co-worker and I who interviewed them after the death of Julian Polansky. It was all above aboard. The man had slipped and fallen into the Mackenzie River and drowned - an accident, pure and simple.

"So Thompson was up here the day your father was murdered."

"Yeah. But look, I know he done it - I don't know how, but he wanted my dad out of the way. I think Dad was getting too good, pulling the business away from him. And Dad said there was something funny about the way Thompson did his repairs, but he never told me what. They had a couple of arguments down at the shop, about dirty tricks his people were pulling on customers."

"Thompson is a mechanic?"

Ray shook his head. "Owner. Runs a string of garages in Chicago. Dad was no threat really, but Thompson doesn't like competition. He's a bully, a real hard man. Dad knew him from when they were kids on the block together. Never liked him."

"It would seem a bit extreme to kill some one over something like competition."

Ray pushed his hair back in frustration. The gesture made the marks of tiredness on his face even more obvious. "That's what the PD said. They don't know this guy. And they wouldn't listen to me. I didn't make many friends over the Botrelle thing, I'll tell you - you know, trying to clear a cop-killer."

"But that doesn't explain why you've come up here, Ray."

"Don't you see, Fraser? It's the only fucking clue I got. I have to do this for Dad. I'm not gonna let another killer slip through my hands. I'm gonna find the man who killed Dad, killed Mum. I have to. Do you understand? I can't let this go." His eyes were becoming fever bright and his demeanour agitated.

"I understand, Ray." I said soothingly. "I'd do the same in your position."

"You would?" He looked surprised but then grateful. "Yeah, you would. I can see that. You're a good man." His curious insistence on this point made me wonder how many of his acquaintances and friends had shown themselves not to be 'good men'.

"But what do you hope to achieve up here, Ray?"

He made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Dunno. Investigate. Ask some questions. I couldn't just sit there, Fraser. Took off after Mum's funeral. Been driving ever since."

"When did you get here?"

" 'Bout seven last night. That's when I realised I'd lost my wallet. I had a ten in my pocket - that's all the money I had. I could either eat or drink. I needed a drink." He looked at me apologetically. "Sorry if I gave you any hassle last night. I was just tired."

"I could see that, and you were no trouble at all. Charlie was just concerned for you."

"He's an okay guy."

I nodded. "Yes, he is. Listen, I think we ought to try and get your cards replaced. I can help you with that. Where were you planning on staying while you were up here?"

"Didn't have no plans, and now..."

"Well, I can solve that problem. You can stay here until you're ready to move on."

"Hold on, Fraser, you can't go inviting total strangers into your home."

"I can and I will. Besides, you aren't a stranger. You're a former police officer, and you're investigating a crime in which I can assist you. It makes sense."

"You're gonna help me?" His amazement was really quite touching - obviously such co-operation had been lacking in the past.

"Of course. I know the case, I can make some enquiries."

"I can't pay you rent or anything, can't even buy food."

I put a hand up. "Ray, none of that is necessary. I can easily afford to put you up for a week or two. However, if you want to earn some cash, I happen to know Charlie is short handed just now - if you're interested. It would explain your presence here too."

"You mean, like going undercover?"

"Yes. Exactly like that."

"Cool. Okay, I can do that." He lifted his hand. I thought for a minute he was going to offer to shake mine again, but to my surprise he reached over, put it on my shoulder, and squeezed. "Thanks, Fraser. Okay. I gotta get my car, then we can go see Charlie, and then you can fill me in on what you know about Mike Thompson."

He was all for tearing out that second. I made him wait until I'd showered and changed into my uniform, but was then content to let him take the lead. He seemed re-energised by the promise of my assistance, and in truth, I was more than happy to be the cause of his cheerfulness. I liked him very much - he was obviously a man devoted to honour and justice, whose reaction in the face of adversity was to fight back and not let it pull him under. His readiness to trust me was also endearing - he seemed surprised that I was ready to trust him, but his faith in me was equally astonishing, given his history with his own police department. I was determined to justify that confidence.

We revised our plan slightly, as our path took us past Macdonald's Bar, and Charlie was just setting up for the day. I took Ray in and made formal introductions. Ray apologised for any trouble he'd caused, but Charlie, as I expected, waved him off.

"No bother, young man. You looked like you needed a friend - I'm glad you found one." Ray lifted his eyebrows at this, and I felt my face grow hot, but it was true that I already considered Ray a friend even after such a short time. I explained, with Ray's assent, what he was doing up here, and Charlie readily agreed to hire him to tide him over a very real staff shortage, at least for two weeks. He even offered to advance Ray a couple of night's wages, to Ray's surprise.

"It's fine, Ray - Ben here vouching for you is good enough for me."

"Uh - okay. Thanks." Again, the surprise at kindness. Such an odd mixture of impulsiveness and shyness. There was much more I wanted to know about Ray Kowalski.

He agreed to work that evening for Charlie, and we left the bar, Ray shivering slightly in the crisp fall wind.

"I can lend you some warmer shirts, Ray."

"Jeez, Ben, you've already done enough for me." But I could see his indecision - and he really was feeling the cold.

"Nonsense, Ray. If you catch a chill, you'll be no use in the investigation. That's what partners are for."

He stopped dead and stared at me. "Partners, Ben? I ain't your partner, and I sure as hell don't want one. I had enough of them to last me a lifetime." He huddled further into his jacket and walked ahead of me. I caught up with him, and he turned his head to acknowledge me with a brief half-smile. "Look, I'm sorry. It's a sore subject."

"Why?"

"You're killing me, Fraser, you know that? I told you more in one morning than I...." I suspected he was going to say something like 'than I would say to my wife or girlfriend,' but he didn't.

"Are you married, Ray?" I asked on impulse.

He laughed bitterly. "Do I look married, Fraser?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Well, I'm not. And I don't have a partner. Same reason." I didn't understand, and said so. "Look, it's simple. Cop has wife, cop has partner - his best buddy and pal. Cop's partner goes undercover and gets his ass shot off, and goes on permanent disability. Cop's wife decides she likes a quiet life without waiting for cop to get *his* ass shot off, and fucks off to Florida with cop's partner and lives happily ever after."

"I'm sorry, Ray. I didn't know."

"Well, how the hell would ya, Fraser? It's not tattooed on my forehead, is it? You know what the really sick thing about the whole damn mess is?" I'm still in love with her. Have been since I was thirteen. Probably will be when I'm a hundred and three. Fucking Raymond Vecchio - him and his golden bullet. Like to go down there and make him cough it up."

"I assure you, Ray, when I called you my 'partner', I..."

"Yeah, I know, buddy. I'm sorry. Listen, I'm proud you think of me like that, that you want to team up with me, but I like to work alone, you know?"

"I appreciate that. But I think in this instance, you may need my assistance." He stopped walking again, and faced me.

"I'm being a total turd here, aren't I, Fraser? You take me into your home, get me a job, offer to help me find my dad's killer, and all I can do is bitch about my former wife and my former partner and throw it all in your face. Okay, I'm stopping that, right now. Friends?" He stuck out his hand, and I shook it. He seemed to need frequent tactile confirmation of our connection, however recent and however slight. Each contact made me hungry for more, which surprised me. I am not a man who normally feels comfortable touching other people, especially other men. Ray had a way of slipping under my barriers.

He didn't hide his relief at seeing his car again in an undamaged state. "She's a classic, Fraser. Dad and me worked on her for two years, on and off." We drove the short distance back to my duplex, and parked on the road.

"You know, it's not really suitable for this area, especially with winter coming on."

He sighed. "Yeah, I worked that out now. I wasn't thinking too clearly when I left Chicago. Just closed up Mum and Dad's house, my apartment, shut down what was left of Dad's business, and shot off. Didn't even pack right." He confirmed this by opening the trunk of his car and removing quite a modest duffel bag and a sleeping roll. "If you hadn't offered me a place last night, I'd have slept here. Think your place is better."

"Undoubtedly. And warmer. Sleeping in your vehicle at this time of year is really not to be recommended."

"You ever done it?"

"No - but I've had to deal with one or two people who have." He shut the trunk, and carried the bags inside. I started making an early lunch, before the start of my shift, and I suggested that Ray start making the calls he needed to replace his bank and credit cards. I dismissed his offer to pay for the calls, and then I suggested he have the new cards delivered to the detachment. Once his task was completed, I served up soup and crackers, and he sat and ate as if he hadn't seen food for a week. He saw me watching and grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry, Fraser. I'm starved. Didn't stop for food much on the way up."

"You need to maintain your caloric intake up here, Ray."

"Is that what you do?"

"Well, I have an extra layer of subcutaneous fat, but yes, I do make sure I eat properly. It's essential."

After he insisted on clearing and washing the dishes, I suggested he come with me to headquarters, so that I could make some enquiries about the members of the hunting party of which Michael Thompson had been a member. Before we set out I dug out some flannel shirts for him, and a pair of long johns.

"Fraser, I can't wear your underwear!"

"Why not, Ray? I have several pair."

He looked embarrassed. "Because it's not something guys do, okay?"

"Well, I don't see why it should be a problem. You'll find they're a lot warmer and more comfortable than jeans to sleep in." And the idea of him sleeping in my clothes was not an unpleasant one either, I thought, and then was ashamed of myself. To my relief, however, he acquiesced, and immediately put on one of my shirts.

"It's nice - really warm," he said appreciatively as he buttoned it up.

"Keep it. I have a good number of them."

"Hey, thanks. It'll be something to remember you by." Hs words, a timely reminder that he was merely a transient here, gave me a quite unreasonable pang. Mooning over a man who could be gone within a week, and whom I had known only hours - utterly indulgent, I thought with disgust. It was time to remember whose son I am.

Ray had with him a small but detailed dossier about his father's murder, and I began to understand his frustration. Forensic evidence was very unhelpful - the fire had destroyed just about everything in the workshop, and all of Ray's father's paperwork, and apart from the possibility of Michael Thompson's involvement, there appeared to be no motive whatsoever for the crime. There were no signs of forced entry or robbery, and no indication that Kowalski senior had been receiving threats. I couldn't see any angle that had not been pursued, other than that of Thompson, and as he had an airtight alibi, that didn't seem to be a fruitful avenue to explore. However, I went over the hunting party accident with Ray. The victim was a businessman, out on his first trip - a novice in an unforgiving landscape who paid the price of inattention. We get several deaths a year happening this way. But Ray wouldn't let this rest. He insisted that I find out more about Polansky and about the other members of the party. As he was due to start work, he made me promise to dig out the information in his absence. I was a little hurt by his insistence, but then, he had a history of betrayal by his colleagues that would make anyone suspicious.

Fortunately, it was a quiet shift, and I was able to make some enquiries on line. I also took the time to call the Chicago consulate and to speak to a former superior of mine, Meg Thatcher, who had transferred south and who was now the Liaison Officer at the consulate.

"Inspector, it's Constable Benton Fraser."

"Fraser? Good God, it's been years."

"Two, in fact, sir. I trust you are well."

"Get to the point, Ben. You didn't ring me up after all this time to talk about my health, which is excellent, thank you." Acid tongued and direct as always.

"Right you are, sir. I have a favour to ask." I explained Ray's situation to her. "Sir, would it be possible for you to speak to Ray's former boss, at the 27th precinct, and let me have details of his record?"

She was suspicious. "This isn't procedure, Fraser."

"I know that, sir, but with all due respect, I may have to work closely with this man. I'd like to know with whom I'm dealing."

"You're asking a lot on the strength of a single kiss, Ben."

I felt my face redden. "No... Meg... I'm asking you as a fellow RCMP officer. But if you can't do it, I understand."

There was a silence for a time on the other end of the line. "I sometimes wish you would try and exploit our previous ... contact, Ben. Just once."

"I'm sorry."

The feeble apology made her brusque once more. "All right, Constable. I'll see what I can do. Don't hold your breath." The line went dead, and I sighed. Meg Thatcher was a fine officer, and an attractive woman, but there really hadn't been any possibility of a future together. My dreams and her career would never be reconciled. Still, I didn't wish to alienate her - or lose her friendship, which was more important to me than any romance. And, more to the point, I hoped she would be able to get me the information I asked for.

My shift finished at eleven, and as we had arranged, I met Ray outside Macdonald's Bar. Charlie nodded at me, and winked, so I presumed Ray had worked out well as a casual bartender. We fell into step along the street.

"So, what did you find out?"

"Not a great deal, I'm afraid." Ray's face reflected his disappointment. "Ray, it's very early days. I haven't begun to exhaust all avenues yet. Give it time."

"Sorry, Fraser. Guess I was thinking you'd pull the rabbit out of the hat - you seem to be good at that."

I waited until we were inside and settled with our respective beverages before showing Ray my notes. Essentially the members of the disastrous hunting party were a mixture of American and Canadian businessmen, all apparently honest, upright and without criminal records.

"How did Thompson come to be on this? I'd never have figured him for the hunting type."

I looked at my notes. "He said a friend of his had dropped out at the last minute, and offered him the place."

"Who's the friend?"

"A Terence Hanson. He confirmed Thompson's story." Ray looked at me enquiringly. "We don't know any more about him. He has no record."

Ray threw his hands up in frustration, got up and started pacing. "Ben, we gotta chase everything down. I know the answer's here," he said, jabbing his finger at my file. "We just gotta dig."

"Settle down, Ray. I agree. But there's a limit to what I can achieve in an afternoon, and I do have other things to do."

He grinned in apology. "My boss always said I didn't know when to stop. Said I had ... now what did he used to say? I had a 'greater capacity to piss people off than any one else he knew'."

"I would say that's not an entirely accurate summation of your character, Ray. You appear to be quite charming."

He looked at me blankly. "You say things like that often, Fraser?"

"Not as a rule, no. But it seems to be a self-evident truth."

"You're a freak, you know that? But he smiled to take the sting out of his words. We went over what I had discovered, and discussed the next stage of the investigation. I was impressed by his sharp, police mind, and reflected that the Chicago PD had lost more than they probably realised. I wished, suddenly, that somehow I could have been Ray's partner while he had pursued the Botrelle case. Perhaps then he would still be a cop, instead of having embarked on this quixotic road trip that would likely end in disappointment, because despite my encouraging noises, I felt that the answer to his father's murder did not lie in Norman Wells.

He yawned hugely, and apologised. "I'm beat, Ben. I'm gonna turn in."

"Do you have everything you need?"

He responded playfully to my wholly innocent question. "Why, Fraser? Is that an invitation?" I blushed to the roots of my hair.

"I assure you, Ray..." I began, stiffly.

He raised his hands in surrender. "Don't have a cow, Fraser. I'm kidding. Goodnight."

The next few days were going to be more difficult than I thought.

The following morning, he was not yet up when I returned from exercising Diefenbaker. I made breakfast,and prepared beverages, spooning out into a mug the instant coffee he'd purchased the previous day. I put the kettle on to boil, and as it clicked off, he emerged from the bedroom, wearing my long johns. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I found myself staring at him, but this time in amusement. He saw my smile and laughed as well. The long johns were a generous fit on me, and on his wiry body, he looked like a circus clown in search of makeup.

"These things are real passion killers, ain't they?"

Pity they aren't, I thought to myself. "They are immensely practical, Ray. With the two openings, one needn't expose more of oneself to the elements than is strictly necessary to perform natural functions."

He grinned. "Yeah, I can see how they might come in handy if you're having hot monkey sex on an ice floe." He didn't wait for my reply, thank goodness, but disappeared into the bathroom. I began to see why his former boss might have found him somewhat exasperating. The man was at once engaging and annoying. In the short time since I'd met him, I'd blushed more often than I had in the previous ten years, and it was too much at this hour in the morning. I covered my embarrassment by busying myself with preparing the tea and coffee. He was out of the shower, again dressed only in a towel, and into the bedroom to change in only a couple of minutes.

He settled at the table, but frowned at the plate of food I set before him. "Ben, you don't have to make me breakfast."

"It's no trouble, Ray. I just made extra."

"Yeah, but.... I don't get you. How can you be so nice to someone you hardly know?" He actually seemed irritated.

"For a start, Ray, making a guest breakfast is hardly extraordinary, and secondly, I feel I do know you - well enough, at least, to know that you aren't likely to abuse my hospitality."

"How do you know that, Fraser? How do you know?" Good lord, I thought. He really did seem angry.

"I... well, I can't put it into words. Let's just say I have very good instincts."

"They ever let you down?"

I had to be honest. "On occasion, yes. But I don't think they will in this case." He gave me a long, piercing look that seemed to abrade my soul. At last he gave a sharp nod, as if he had settled something in himself.

"Okay. Sorry, you work in Chicago long enough, you forget how to trust people. Working undercover - you see a lot of shit." He didn't elaborate, which in many ways made the possibilities of what he had experienced seem worse, to my imagination.

"You seem to trust me."

"You're different. Sorta... I dunno ... pure, innocent, or something. You remind me of the nuns I had at school."

Some may have been insulted by the comparison, but I was merely intrigued. "You were raised a Catholic?"

"Yeah. Don't go in for it no more, but you know what they say..."

"Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man?"

He laughed. "You know that one, huh." He applied himself to his eggs and bacon and I watched him eat in quick economical movements, clearly making up a deficit.

"About the case..." I began. His food was suddenly forgotten in his interest in what I was going to say. "The one thing we know about Terence Hanson is that he lives in Inuvik. My sister's stationed up there - I'll call her about him. I was planning to visit her on my rostered days off next week - Monday and Tuesday. I could speak to Hanson then. Would you like to come with me?"

"To visit your sister?" I nodded. "That's great, Fraser." Something struck him. "Stationed?"

"Yes, she's in the RCMP as well."

"You know, Ben, you had my whole life story out of me in five minutes flat. But you haven't told me jack shit about you. Now I find out you got a sister who's a Mountie. Who else you got hiding away?" His eyes were a challenge.

"I'm sorry, I hadn't realised I was being so secretive."

"I didn't say secretive, Fraser. Just... private."

I'll admit he had a point. "What do you want to know about me?"

"Start with the family. Mother, father, sisters, brothers, great aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents..." I put a hand up to stop the rapidly evolving list and he smiled. "Okay. Easy stuff first."

"Right. Mother, deceased. Father, a sergeant in the RCMP, stationed on Baffin Island. One sister, Maggie - half sister actually, a constable in the RCMP. Her mother is my step-mother. No brothers. No great aunts or uncles, living at any rate. Maternal grandparents died before I was born. Paternal grand-parents deceased. They were travelling librarians, and the ones who taught me at home when Mum died. And that's it."

"Mum, dead? How old were you?"

"I was six."

"That's rough." I nodded in agreement.  The pain had long since scarred over, but now and then I realised how much I'd lost when she died.

"Hey, Ben - you okay?" Ray's face was concerned.

"I'm fine. Just memories."

"I know that feeling." For a second, a spark of perfect understanding flowed between us, a link forged by loss. I broke it first by clearing my throat.

"Anyway. I'll call Maggie today, you clear it with Charlie, and we'll fly..."

"Fly, Fraser? My credit cards probably won't be here for a few days..."

"Don't fret, Ray. I'll pay, you can pay me back."

"Okay. Don't want no charity." I looked at him steadily. "Well, no *more* charity." He grinned. "I'll give you back your long johns."

"When you're ready, Ray. You'll need them in Inuvik - it's within the Arctic Circle."

"Them flaps come in handy?"

"Undoubtedly." Another brilliant smile, transforming his face into that almost of an angel. Beautiful, intriguing man. God, I thought, I was going to go mad.

 

* * *

He came down to headquarters as on the previous day, and went over the files of the hunting accident.

"See, the thing I don't get, Fraser, is how does a guy like Mike Thompson, a city kid born and bred, even gets to know someone like Hanson. It doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps they met on holiday?"

He shook his head. "I don't buy it."

As I had promised to do, I called my sister.

"Ben? You still coming up next week?"

"Yes, of course. Maggie, do you know a Terence Hanson?"

"He runs a guest house up here. Why?"

I explained Ray's situation, and what we were investigating.

"Well, I haven't heard anything against the man, but I don't know him well. Are you going to speak to him?"

"Yes, I thought I would. I'd like to bring Ray with me, if I may? Can we stay with you?"

"Will he mind the floor?"

"I doubt that, Maggie. He was sleeping in his car when I met him."

I heard her laugh. "I think he'll find my living room more comfortable than that." She confirmed details of my flight, and ended the call. I found Ray looking at me intently.

"You two close?"

"We are ... now. I didn't even know she existed until about four years ago."

"You mean... her mother and your dad... Did you mind when you found out?"

His face showed nothing but mild curiousity and some sympathy as he asked this. I fiddled with a pencil, and tried to decide how to answer such a personal question. "No ... well, not after the initial shock. After all, Maggie's ten years younger than me - Dad hadn't been unfaithful to my mother or done anything unsavoury. He didn't even know he had a daughter until four years ago. I am very grateful I finally did get to know her."

"She's okay - nice, I mean?"

"I think so, but I may be biased, naturally."

"Naturally," he said, mimicking my formal tone, and I grinned at him. He smiled back.

"So what did she say?"

"Not much. I'll interview Hanson when we go up."

"Greatness. I'll get the story out of him.... what?" He stopped, seeing my look.

"Ray, you can't come with me to speak to him ... you aren't a police officer anymore."

"Fraser, it's my dad we're talking about here." Angry again.

"I know that, but if Hanson does know anything, or is in any way involved, then you could jeopardise the investigation. You know that as well as I do." He started to protest again. "Ray... please. I give you my word as a Mountie and a friend that I will take the same degree of care over this as if it were my own father's death I was investigating."

His temper deflated. "I know you will, Fraser. You don't need to promise."

"Nevertheless, you have it."

"Word of a Mountie?"

"And a friend."

He seemed embarrassed. "You're a freak, Fraser."

"Thank you kindly."

He gave me a wry look. "You're one of a kind, Benton Fraser."

"I hardly think so, Ray."

"Trust me on this - you definitely are." He stood up. "I gotta go to work. See you later?" I nodded.

"Okay. It's a date then." He left, leaving me wondering whether he habitually larded his conversation with innuendo or whether he was making a special effort for me. It was most disconcerting.

Meg Thatcher called me back that afternoon with the information on Ray, which was most interesting, and served to confirm my belief that the man had been a very great loss to the Chicago Police Department. It also made me think that, despite the apparent evidence and what logic would appear to dictate, I really ought to trust his instincts regarding this case. I hoped, for Ray's sake, we would learn more in Inuvik. Then the depressing thought came to me that the sooner we resolved this, the sooner he would leave. This was not something I wanted to contemplate, but being the realist that I unfortunately am, I had to face it.

I met him, as I had done the previous night, after his shift, and as before we quickly fell into step on the way home. He told me about some of the customers he'd encountered and, reading between the lines, I gathered he had used his police training to good effect, preventing one or two situations from erupting, and I knew Charlie was grateful for that sort of assistance especially on a Friday night. But he didn't make this explicit, which I put down to an unfortunate modesty about his talents. I recalled he said his father had disapproved of him entering the police force - was he somehow ashamed of having been a policeman? Eager as I was to learn all I could about my strange new friend, I thought he might resent the suggestion, but he didn't seem to mind me asking him.

"My dad... he knew a lot of cops where we grew up. A lot of rotten apples, greasing their own wheels. Thought they were as bad as the people they arrested. He wanted better for me and my brother. My brother went to college, I dropped out ... Dad thought I threw my chances away. He got over it. Mum helped."

"She didn't mind?"

"Your mum's your mum, right? Nothing you do is wrong to her." That, I knew from the expeirence of friends with both parents still alive, was what I had missed out on when my mother died - unconditional acceptance and love. My father is a good man, but strict, and somewhat rigid, although he has mellowed somewhat in his old age and with marriage to my stepmother. Even with the burden of sorrow upon Ray, I felt he was in some ways more fortunate than me.

As previously, Ray was disinclined to go straight to bed, and although it meant curtailing my already short night's sleep, I joined him for tea. It was selfish, I knew, putting my need for company above the need to be in peak condition for my job, but on the other hand, Ray would be gone soon enough, and I was hungry for what I could have of his friendship before he left.

We discussed the case, but as there was nothing new, we fell to discussing our respective families. It was almost impossible to avoid mentioning Ray's failed marriage, especially as his ex-wife and his mother seemed to have been extraordinarily close even after the divorce. I noticed he never mentioned her name, as such, so I asked him, more out of polite curiosity than anything else.

"Stella," he said abruptly, then winced. I said the name in my head, and then his last name, and realised the reason for the wince. "Yeah. Stupid. Like we were made for each other. Not enough to stop her sleeping with my partner for six months. Now she's Stella Vecchio, with a kid and no more jokes." I looked at him in sympathy, but he appeared lost in recollection. I was considering clearing up and going to bed when he suddenly asked me a question.

"You ever been married, Fraser?"

I shook my head.

"Close?"

I shook my head again.

"And no girlfriends." A statement, not a question. He could see for himself how I lived. "Not into women, Ben?"

I was irritated by his casual assumption that this was a suitable topic for conversation. "Ray, it's late, and I have to get up early to run with Diefenbaker...."

"Fraser, don't get pissed at me, okay? I was just asking. Don't want to put my foot in it." His voice was mild, and I realised that I was being childish. Of course he might assume I had no interest in females.

"I'm not angry, Ray. I am just not used to talking about these things..."

"With a stranger, I know...."

"You're not a stranger. I don't make a habit of discussing my personal life with anyone." I gathered up our cups and took them into the kitchen, rinsed them out. When I returned to the living room, he was standing and looking at me speculatively.

"So, who was it?"

"Who was who, Ray?" I was beginning to get cross.

"The one who put your heart in the deep freeze, Ben."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ray. I'm going to bed."

I walked past him, and as I did, I heard him say softly, "You can't hide forever, Benton Fraser." I pretended I hadn't heard.

On my return with Dief the next morning, to my surprise Ray was up, dressed, and making breakfast. At my surprised look, he was matter of fact. "I kept you up yakking. It was the least I could do." I accepted the gesture and the implied apology with good grace, and ate the food with a hearty appetite. The weather was becoming much colder, and the winter was undoubtedly going to be a harsh one this year. We talked about this and Ray seemed genuinely interested in learning more about life in the Territories. Despite my residual irritation at his intrusion into my privacy the night before, I found, as ever, that talking to him was a delight. He had a real appetite for knowledge which he vainly tried to conceal behind a self-mocking pseudo-illiteracy. His ex-wife had been a lawyer - perhaps she had encouraged him to feel intellectually inferior.

There was no need for him to come down to the headquarters that afternoon, but he did so, and I showed him around the building, and explained the role of the police force up here. Compared to Chicago, Norman Wells seemed to him, at any rate, almost like Paradise, although I tried to assure him that we had our share of serious crime. He remained unconvinced.

"You got drugs up here? Smackheads, crack babies? Gangs? Drive by shootings? No? You ain't got crime here, Fraser, you got a kindergarten." But he said this with a twinkle in his blue eyes that told me I was being teased, again, and that he, at least, held no grudge for my gruff behaviour of the previous evening. I felt curiously bereft when he left to start work.

I made no move that night to encourage conversation when we got home. In truth I was tired, as I always am on the late shift, but I had no desire to talk about subjects which might force an admission out of me I was unwilling to make. The man was too perceptive by half, and I had no wish to have my heart on display - or broken. Not again, at any rate. He accepted my excuses and made his way to bed without comment. Irrationally, this annoyed me more than any potential conversation we might have had. Benton Fraser, you really are behaving in the most unacceptable manner, I told myself severely. It didn't help.

 

* * *

The next two days passed without comment or incident, but I felt Ray had withdrawn from me somewhat, in response to my own lack of openness. On one hand, this was a relief, but on the other, I felt I was losing something precious that was only being gifted to me for the shortest of times. What, I began to wonder, irritated with myself for my automatic reticence, was so earth shattering about telling a friend about matters long in the past? Ray had opened up to me, had told me of painful, even humiliating, things, without embarrassment or shame, and I would hardly describe him as weak or lacking in moral strength. It was I who was the weakling, I realised. And whatever Robert Fraser had done, he hadn't fathered a coward.

I took the opportunity of my last night on late shift to invite Ray to stay up and have coffee, as we had begun, abortively, to make something of a habit. We were going to fly to Inuvik in the morning, so there was an end-of-week feel to the first day of the new week. Ray was a little puzzled at my new-found congeniality, but accepted the offer readily enough. When we were seated in the living room, I spoke into the companionable silence that had settled over us.

"You asked a question the other night. Her name was Victoria."

He was momentarily bemused, but then realised of what I was speaking. "The one who broke your heart?"

"Not the only one, but yes, the main one."

"Fraser, you don't need to tell me this - I was just being a nosy Parker." His voice was surprisingly full of sympathy, which made it easier to continue.

I shook my head. "No... I'd like to, if you don't mind."

He sat back in his chair. "Shoot."

I found it comforting to stare at my mug while I spoke of this. It was something I hadn't talked about in nearly a decade, and the wish to do so was a fragile flame which would be extinguished by the slightest hint of derision in my companion. Fortunately, he seemed to be aware of this, and stayed silent as I told the story.

She was a bank robber, from Alaska, fleeing the scene of her crime. I had tracked her from her downed plane into Fortitude Pass, where I found her close to dying from the cold. I hadn't been expecting her to be so young, so beautiful ... so pathetic. In the desperation of our circumstances, of needing to stay alive through a two day whiteout, of both coming close to death through hypothermia, I forgot for a time that she was wanted for a heinous crime, a crime which had led to the death of a bank guard and that of one of her co-conspirators. For those few days, all that mattered was our tiny universe, huddled under my coat, in each other's arms. The night she opened herself to me, asked me to take her, because it might be the last time for both of us, I thought I might die of happiness before the cold killed us both. My desires, my future, all that I was, had contracted to that tiny fetid space, to her body, the sound of her voice. The hold she had over me, over my heart, was strong; was, in fact, the most powerful emotion I had ever experienced outside the grief over my mother's death.

"I suppose she possibly found me attractive - perhaps it was a way for her to try to survive. I don't know. It's something I've asked myself many times - whether she truly felt anything for me. I guess the real answer is that she would have done anything to be free, even seduce me. As for me ... she was my first. I had nothing to compare the feelings with."

Ray nodded sympathetically. I continued the miserable tale.

When we finally reached civilisation, despite my feelings, I knew my duty was clear - I knew I had to turn her in. When I told her what I had to do, she screamed with rage, and then she begged me, pleaded with me, offered herself to me for the rest of her life. If I had had even five more minutes to make the decision, I fear I would have done as she asked, and gone on the run with her. But by luck - or misfortune - our arrival had been noticed by the local RCMP, and a constable, seeing my uniform, came to our encampment on the outskirts of town and asked if I needed assistance. That was all she needed. My knife, which she had extricated from my boot in my sleep, and which I had assumed I had dropped, was quickly at the young officer's throat, and I was being asked to make a choice between letting her go and killing him. She did not notice the non-verbal signals the other constable and I exchanged, and which allowed him to slip from her clutches. In the melee that followed, we struggled over the knife, and she was stabbed in the side.

My voice fell silent, and Ray looked at me for a minute or more, waiting for me to spill the last dregs of the story. "She ... she died before the emergency helicopter could lift her out."

Ray looked down at his cup, absorbing the whole sorry tale, before lifting his eyes to mine.

"Fuck," he said simply.

"Indeed."

"You blamed yourself?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah. I guess so. You were in love?"

"As much as I was capable of it, I suppose. It was either that or an inner ear infection," which statement made him lift one side of his mouth in a half smile.

"So, you swore off women, love ... the whole nine yards?"

"No, Ray. I didn't. I am not foolish enough to believe that what happened with Victoria was at all typical of most human relationships, since we are not hip deep in dead lovers. I merely learnt the lesson that brief infatuations can be extremely destructive, and I have come to distrust sudden, strong emotions. The sort of relationships I admire, like those between my father and both his wives, are born of long and patient understanding between both partners. Lust is a poor basis for marriage." God, I sounded so unspeakably pompous, and I was lecturing a man who had himself been married for what he thought would be for life. "Ray, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about," I said, apologetically.

He grinned. "It's all right, Ben. I ain't about to start telling you about grandmothers and eggs." He got up and came and sat next to me on the sofa, and despite myself, I felt a shiver go through me. "So who was the other one?"

"The other one?"

"You said she wasn't the only one who broke your heart. So who was the other one, or ones?"

"I think I've really said all I want...."

"It was a guy, wasn't it?" I stiffened up, and refused to look at him. "Come on, Ben. I was a detective. There isn't much I haven't seen. You'd have told me if it was a woman."

I hung my head. "Yes. A man. Young, barely out of his teens. Older than me. I...." I really couldn't continue. This was even more raw than Victoria, and this was something I had never told anyone - not Maggie, certainly not my father. Why should I tell someone who was going to leave, someone I hardly knew, who hardly knew me?

"Because I care?" His words shocked me. I must have spoken the last part of my thoughts aloud. He put his hand on my shoulder, and I felt the heat through my shirt, almost burning me. I looked at his face, and saw only concern. "Let me see if I can guess the rest. You had a crush on this older guy, and you felt you couldn't live without him. But when you finally got the courage up to tell him, he... what ... said you were disgusting? That he wasn't queer? That you weren't his type?"

"He tried to be kind, but he really..."

"He didn't go for men?"

I swallowed, and nodded. "And I was only a boy - just sixteen. I felt ashamed of myself - and I lost a good friend. I vowed not to make the same mistake again." I couldn't face him any more, and looked at my hands clasped in front of me. My face burned with a long ago shame, remembering Steve's face, trying to let me down gently, and failing.

"Not to hit on straight guys?"

"Not to make advances to friends."

His hand squeezed my shoulder, maintaining a comforting pressure until I could look at him again. "What if the friend doesn't mind?" he said softly.

"It doesn't matter. I can live without sex, and sex without love. But I need friends..."

"You need love."

I nodded. I stood up, to forestall the situation getting more out of hand, but he grasped my hand. "You want me, don't you, Ben? You think I'm attractive?"

I pried his hand off gently, without anger. "Yes, Ray, I do. Very much so. But I can live without doing anything about it - I'm used to it. I don't think I could stand losing your friendship."

He stood up, and put his hands on my shoulders, standing so close I could feel the heat from his body. "You won't lose my friendship." He cupped my face in his hand, but I pulled away.

"Please, Ray. Don't. I need.... I need more than you or anyone else can give. You don't know me. It's not fair." He dropped his hands, but his eyes pleaded with me. I shook my head at the unspoken appeal. "Trust me, Ray. It's better this way."

"Not even a single kiss?" Oh Satan, get behind me. The man was dangling more temptation than he knew before me. I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

"I'm sorry, Ray." Letting my face and my eyes mirror the regret I saw in his, I moved away and went into my room. It was some time before I heard his door shut quietly.

I expected breakfast to be difficult, but to my unspeakable relief, Ray was as determined as I was to maintain a normal atmosphere, although I suspected he had had as little sleep as I had. I wondered if I was doomed to fall in love with people with whom there was no prospect of a future together. Knowing he desired me as much as I wanted him only made him more irresistible to me, more of a delight to see. I felt like Tantalus. Except Tantalus wouldn't have been so stupid to open the door of his home and let his unreachable temptation walk in and stay.

Ray was friendly but not overly chatty as we made preparations for the trip. I left Dief with my neighbour, and Ray drove us in his car to the airport, just outside the town. We took the short flight in silence, for the most part. My sister was standing next to her Jeep on the tarmac as we exited the plane, and embraced me warmly.

"Good to see you again, Ben." She turned to Ray. I introduced him, and she solemnly shook his hand.

"I see you Frasers were at the front of the line when looks were being handed out."

Maggie is tougher than me, and took the compliment in her stride. "You can't credit the Frasers for me, Ray. I take after my mother. She's a Mackenzie."

"Who do you take after, Fraser?" he asked as we slung our packs into the back of Maggie's Jeep.

"My grandfather," I said shortly. In fact, both Maggie and I get our eyes from our father, but she is slight and blonde, while I am big- boned and dark haired. There is little to indicate our genetic relationship.

Maggie drove us to her cabin, filling me in on RCMP gossip on the way. Ray sat in the back seat, listening intently, but not talking much. As we arrived, an avalanche of sound greeted us.

"Uncle Ben! Uncle Ben! You came!" yelled Maggie's youngest daughter. I swept her up.

"Hello, Margaret. Of course I came."

She cuddled contentedly into my arms, then noticed the stranger. "Who's that?" she whispered, still at the shy stage.

"Why don't you ask him?"

I set her down in front of Ray, who knelt down. "Hiya, honey. I'm Ray. What's your name?"

She stared at him solemnly, but when he treated her to one of his more handsome smiles, she grinned back. "Margaret. I'm three," she announced proudly.

"Last week," Maggie explained. Two other childish voices were heard, and their owners barrelled out.

"Ben! Ben!" I was nearly knocked over by my other niece, Caroline, and my nephew Robert, who was set to take after me in the height department. They bore me off into the house, leaving Ray and Maggie, with her youngest in her arms, to follow behind us. Maggie's friend who had been baby-sitting for her left us to get on with things, and got in her car. Maggie spoke to her briefly in farewell, before the friend drove off.

I was already trapped on the sofa and having books thrust into my hand as the two adults entered, grinning at the sight. I looked apologetically at them, but otherwise kept my attention on the children. I love my nieces and nephew, and missed them very much, as they did me. Maggie obviously realised that until at least one story had been read, I was not going to be released, so she took Ray into the kitchen, where I presumed, from the length of their absence, lunch was being prepared. So absorbed was I in the tale of the dwarves and witches which were the subject of the rather lurid book favourite du jour, that an hour had passed before I lifted my head to see Maggie bringing a crockpot in, and Ray behind her, carrying Margaret. This surprised me, I had to say. Margaret rarely saw strangers, and was shy with all but immediate family, but Ray had apparently won her over in short order. Rather as he had Diefenbaker, I realised.

We got the children seated - I was, of course, 'forced' to sit between Robert and Caroline. Margaret insisted on Ray sitting next to her, much to Maggie's amusement.

"Is Casey working?" I asked.

She nodded. "Some roof repair work. A week's worth." Maggie's husband seemed unsuited to a regular job, but got by on repairs and odd jobs and a little hunting. Maggie was the main breadwinner, which suited them both. They certainly seemed to make things work between them, and Casey was doing a fine job looking after the children.

"When are you going in to see Hanson?" Maggie asked. Ray stiffened slightly - my refusal to let him join me still rankled, I knew.

"This afternoon?"

"Okay - I've got to go into town, so I can give you a lift. Ray, I wonder - would you be able to baby-sit for me?" Ray's resentment over his exclusion from seeing Hanson was immediately hidden by his pleasure at Maggie's request. I wondered why a man clearly so fond of children had none from his ten year marriage. I was also amused by Maggie's rapid assessment of Ray as trustworthy - obviously we had that in common too.

After lunch was cleared away, Maggie and I prepared to go into town. Ray and the children were about to wave us off, when I saw the frown on Ray's face. "Like my own father, Ray," I said quietly, which earned me a nod from him, and a puzzled glance from Maggie. The children said goodbye, and as we drove away I saw Ray being attacked by eager claimants.

"He seems a nice man," Maggie said conversationally.

"Yes. He's had a rough time of it, but he's a good and honest person."

"You like him?" She meant nothing by this, but my conscience was still raw from the night before. I saw my silence was troubling her, so I cleared my throat.

"Yes, I do. I'm sure if I lived down south, we would be good friends."

"What's stopping you from being friends now, Ben?"

"Time," I said without explanation, as she pulled in front of the guest house owned by Terence Hanson. We arranged to meet in half an hour.

That half-hour later, I was in possession of information which, while it imposed a frustrating delay upon the investigation, undoubtedly added weight to Ray's theories. Maggie listened with interest. "It's murky, Ben."

"I know. I hope it's not a false lead."

"You don't want to see him hurt, do you?"

I shook my head. "He's had enough pain for one lifetime."

We picked up some groceries and some items the children needed from the store, then drove back to Maggie's house. We entered it to the sound of raucous giggling and an adult male voice making the most astonishing sounds.

"Monsters," Maggie said, by way of explanation.

"Ah. The latest craze?"

"Yes. Casey's getting a sore throat - he'll be pleased there's another vic... uh, helper around." I laughed. The noise from the children's room was deafening, and we wisely decided to hide in the kitchen until hostilities seemed to have ceased. Eventually there was a rattle of noise and then Ray, apparently symbiotically joined to three youngsters, appeared in the kitchen doorway. He collapsed theatrically.

"Water! Water! I'm dying!" The children giggled, but I poured him a glass, and he took it gratefully, eyes full of mischief and happiness. I felt my heart contract at the sight, and had to turn from him abruptly which undoubtedly hurt him, and which did not go unnoticed by my sharp-eyed sister. Maggie, however, kept her counsel, and Ray said nothing. The children were demanding their afternoon snack, and only after cookies and milk had been dispensed, and the children taken by their mother into the living room, was I able to tell Ray what I learned.

"Terence Hanson was approached by a casual business acquaintance, Andy Fox - who lives near Norman Wells, as it happens - to see if a friend of Fox's could be included in the hunting party. For a consideration, naturally."

"So Hanson lied to the investigators."

"As did Thompson."

He stood up and slapped the wall. "We got 'em, haven't we?"

"Not quite, Ray. But I think it does support your theories."

"So we go after Fox next?"

"Yes, but I happen to know he's away until the end of this week."

"You know him?"

"I know everyone pretty much, in Norman Wells. There's only a few hundred people here, after all."

"So, is he dirty?"

"Not obviously, but if there's something to discover, Ray, we'll do so. Trust me."

He gave me one of his heart-stopping grins. "You say that a lot, Fraser."

Before I thought, the words were out of my mouth. "Am I ever wrong?"

His face fell. "I think so, but obviously I don't count," he said in a low voice, mindful of the audience in the next room.

"You do count, Ray. Very much. This is as much for you as for me."

He shook his head. "Don't lay this on me, Benton buddy. You want to screw up your love life, you're taking all the blame."

He stood up and went in to join my family, leaving me to remind myself exactly why I was inflicting this misery on myself. It was getting harder to remember with every hour.

Maggie's husband arrived just before supper was due to be served, and the noise at the table was truly ear splitting with adults and children all vying to be heard. I shot Ray a glance - he appeared a little stunned. I leaned over and said, mock sotto voce, "It's okay. They only attack the ones they love."

He grinned. "Fraser, I'm Polish. You haven't lived until you've had a meal in a big Polack family." Indeed, he seemed to be enjoying himself, and my relatives were enjoying him. It was with no small regret that I reflected that had Ray been female and permanently settled up here, I could not have wished for a more enthusiastic reception to a potential mate. I was surprised at myself for using such a term in relation to a man - to Ray. But it was true that Ray had all the characteristics except gender that I would want in a wife, and the gender was less important than his commitment to a life in Chicago. God must hate me, I thought, for placing this man in my way.

The children retired at eight and we adults talked until nearly midnight. These snatched visits are all I usually see of my closest relatives - my father I am lucky to see once a year.

"How's your mother, Maggie?"

"She's okay. Bearing up." Her face belied her words.

Ray was puzzled, and I explained. "Her mother has breast cancer - they operated, and they think it's all out, but she's still in the danger period."

Maggie interjected. "And it doesn't help that she's nearly sixty, and on her own six months of the year."

"Maggie, you know Dad's job as well as I do..."

"I'm sorry, Ben, but Mum needs him, and he's not there."

"I know how she feels," I said quietly. I could feel Ray's gaze but I didn't look at him, watching my sister instead. She hadn't before expressed her anger over this, and I knew that eventually she would come to see the reality. She is, after all, RCMP herself. "Mother will be fine, I know that. There are strong genes in that side of the family."

Maggie gave me a brave smile, but I knew the worry that had been nagging at her for months, ever since her mother's diagnosis. It cast a pall over us, and shortly after, Casey took his wife to bed, leaving Ray and me to make our camp in the living room.

"You didn't tell me you meant the actual floor, Fraser. I thought you meant, like, on a roll out bed or something."

"Sorry, Ray."

He grumbled as he rolled out Maggie's rubber mat, and slung his sleeping bag on top. "If I do this, I want a badge, Ben."

"I'll get you one."

"You will, I'll remember."

"I know."

"I know you know, Fraser."

"Goodnight, Ray." I banked up the fire, and turned off the light, and found that fate had conspired to have me sleeping less than a foot from the man I wanted, wearing my oversize long johns, illuminated by flattering and romantic firelight. I thought my groan was inaudible, but I heard Ray give a soft laugh.

"Your patience wearing thin, Fraser?"

"*Goodnight*, Ray."

I rolled over and tried to sleep. I must have succeeded for a while, for when I was next aware of my surroundings, the room was cold and quite dark. I got up quietly and rebuilt the fire, but for all my care, when I turned back to my sleeping bag, I found Ray, propped up on one elbow, watching me intently, looking rumpled and gorgeous. I sat back on my haunches.

"You fill those out better than me, Ben."

"I...." I had no words to answer him. All I wanted to do was reach over to him, and take that sleep mussed head in my hands, and put my lips on that long mouth. What I needed to do was get under the cover of my sleeping bag and think of decomposing caribou, before I made a fool of myself. What I actually did was sit there with my mouth hanging open like a brain-damaged fool.

Ray put a hand out to me, and completely against my will, I found my own reaching out to him. He pulled me closer to him, and I felt utterly powerless to stop him, or to move away. I knew he was about to kiss me, knew I should stop it, but I could not. And God help me if his lips did not feel softer and more wonderful than even my fantasies, and his mouth tasted more erotic than anything in my dreams. I moaned against his lips.

"This is insane, Ray," I whispered.

"Just a kiss, Fraser. That's all I want," he replied, equally softly. His words sent a shudder through me, and I could not have released his mouth if the fate of my unborn children depended on it. All the sensation of my body was contracted to the contact between our lips, and I felt as if all the oxygen had left the room. Reluctantly he released me.

"Wow," he said, with awe, and with pleasure, his eyes bright.

"As you said."

He grinned in total delight. "Told you, Ben."

I sat up, removed my hand from his. "We can't do this, Ray."

"We already did."

"No, we can't do more than this."

He nodded, and I was grateful for his acquiescence. " I just had to know, Ben. I had to know what you tasted like. If I never have more, at least I had that. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said in a voice suddenly gone husky. As if a hidden signal had been tripped, we found our lips meeting again, with more fire, hungry, tasting each other. I had to end it, before I lost all control. "We have to stop. The children..."

To our mutual regret, and with more effort than I would have thought possible, I managed to force myself to break free, to deny the craving the taste of him had aroused. He rolled back. "Yeah. I know." He lifted my hand to his lips. "Good night, Benton Fraser."

I felt compelled to return the gesture. "Good night, Ray Kowalski." Despite myself, I stroked his face, and felt him move into the caress. Oh, god. I was already lost.

 

* * *

I couldn't meet his eyes in the morning, and he wasn't helping. I just knew he was grinning and I knew also if I looked straight at him, I would want to either rebuke him or kiss him again. And neither action was particularly appropriate in our circumstances. Fortunately the children, who were awake almost as early as Diefenbaker, rescued me. I was being tugged about nearly as much by the children as I would have been by the wolf by the time I was dressed. Ray did not escape either - in fact, I rather suspected he egged on some of the more boisterous activity.

An attempt to spare Maggie and Casey some effort by getting breakfast for the children was nearly foiled by innocent requests for truly outrageous food stuffs which they insisted were normal fare. Sulks ensued when the requests were met by my reasonable refusals. Ray was no help, threatening to actually allow Caroline to have her chocolate, banana and cookie milkshake. "Hey, Fraser - sounds all right to me. " I gave him a look which threatened retribution, but all I got in response was a stuck out tongue. This of course led to a general lingual display and I had only managed to barely restore order when a sleepy Casey stuck his head in through the door to demand what the *hell* all the racket was.

The children were on holiday, and Maggie had taken the week off as well to sit them, so we spent the rest of the time until our flight back, playing and talking, and for me, storing up memories until I could come back. Maggie saw me watching the roughhousing with a wistful eye.

"It's not too late, Ben. You'll have your own one day."

I sighed. "I doubt that somehow, Maggie. I'm afraid I would be like Dad - always going off on patrol, leaving my wife to bring up my children, seeing them growing two inches between visits. It's not right."

"Well, you can share ours." She gave me a hug, and I was grateful to have it. "Ray is enjoying himself, at least."

"Yes, it's good for him, I think."

"He's good for you, I think." I looked at her in astonishment, but she refused to say any more, and in the next moment, she was swept away by her offspring, leaving Ray on his own.

"I love these kids, Fraser," he said.

"The feeling would appear to be mutual. Did you not want your own?"

Well, that was tactful, Benton. Ray looked as if I had kicked him. "Stella didn't want them, not with me, anyhow," he said in a pained, quiet voice. I had to stop myself repeating Maggie's action, with Ray. I could not imagine why any one would want to hurt this man as much as his ex-wife had done. But then, I reflected, he would probably say I was doing no less to him by denying him the physical affection he wanted - and with hindsight, probably needed.

We watched the children for a while more, and then it was time to leave. Maggie had arranged for her neighbour, Mary, to watch the children again while she drove us to the airport. To my surprise, Maggie hugged me again before we went into the terminal. She's not usually that demonstrative.

"Bye, Ben. Don't leave it so long until next time."

"I'll try not to. Give my love to your mum, and to Dad, if you talk to them." She nodded, and turned to Ray, who was standing shyly out of our way. To his shock, and mine, she hugged him also, and planted a kiss on his cheek, to his obvious delight. "Goodbye, Ray. You know you're always welcome here, if you're back this way."

"It's not likely, Maggie, but thanks." He kissed her back, and winked at me over the top of her head. He set her free. "Tell the kids to watch out for the monsters behind the woodshed."

"Ray, you didn't..."

"'Fraid so," he said with a grin, and ducked a swat, grabbing his bag and walking ahead of me into the terminal.

"Bring him back one day, Ben," she said quietly.

"As he said, it's not likely."

She looked me in the eye. "Benton Fraser, that was *not* a suggestion."

"Yes, ma'am," I said smartly, and like Ray, dodged her mock slap. I saluted her and waved goodbye as she drove off.

I caught up with Ray at the boarding desk. "It appears you're a hit," I said lightly.

"Glad I am with somebody then," he said, almost under his breath.

He didn't ignore me on the flight back, on the ride to my house, or as I got supper together. But nor did he initiate conversation with me. He seemed withdrawn, at times morose, his mood declining as the day wore on. This was exactly what I feared would happen - that I would lose his friendship once I gave in to my urges.

Finally, just before supper, I decided to force the issue. "Ray?" He looked up from grooming Dief.

"Yeah, Fraser?"

"Last night - I think we should forget about it."

"You do what you want, Ben. You don't own me." He went on brushing Dief's thick fur, apparently absorbed in his task, and was startled when I sat next to him and took his hand.

"Ray. Last night. Did Not Happen. You have to forget it for your own sake."

He shook me off with irritation. "I don't play games like that, Ben. I said one kiss, and I meant it. Your virgin honour's safe with me. Just don't go fucking with my head."

"You're... that's what you're doing to me. You've hardly said a word to me all day."

"So?"

"So have I lost your friendship for the sake of a midnight fondling session?"

He sighed and abandoned the grooming, much to Dief's vocal annoyance. "No, no, you haven't, Ben. Just give me some time to get things clear in my mind, okay? I'm not here just to keep your underwear warm. There's a murder I'd like to solve."

He made me feel ashamed. Here I was obsessing about a relatively innocent activity on which he had made no move to capitalise, and I had forgotten that yesterday we had made a breakthrough in his father's case. I got off the sofa, but he kept hold of my hand, looking up with a sad smile. "Fraser, I'm sorry. I get like this lately - up and down. It's hard... hard to focus, you know? You ... Mum and Dad ... being here. Sometimes it all just hits me." I squeezed his hand to show I understood. "It really meant a lot to me, that kiss. The two... let me keep that, at least."

"Of course. I'm sorry. You have got a lot of things to think about." He nodded. I let him go, and then went to finish cooking.

Working the morning shift meant our paths did not cross at the house at all, although he met me for lunch each day. He was distracted, and I knew why - he was counting the days until Fox came back, when, as I had promised, I would be interviewing him. He still chafed at not being able to speak to the man himself, but put up little argument. In retrospect, that should have made me suspicious.

Fox was due back Saturday, and I planned to go to his farmhouse after my shift finished at four. Somewhat to my surprise, Ray did not meet me for lunch, and shortly after three, I was called by Charlie to say Ray had not turned up at the bar, nor was he answering my home number. I had a sudden feeling of dread - somehow I knew just where Ray had gone.

My suspicions were confirmed when I drove up to Andrew Fox's ramshackle farm in the detachment vehicle, and saw Ray's car parked in the yard. Fox's truck was there, and I noted, absently, that at least one other vehicle, a 4x4, by its tires, had been there that day since the overnight rain. I knocked on the front door, but got no answer. The back door was wide open, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air. It wasn't difficult to locate the source. Ray was propped against the wall of the kitchen, groaning and holding his head with his hands, a gash on his chest that had bled copiously but which had now stopped. He was sitting, legs bent underneath him, in a pool of viscous blood. Not his own, thank God. It belonged to Andy Fox, who was lying on the floor, his throat cut, eyes open and unseeing in death. Near the body, next to Ray, lay a knife, the apparent murder weapon.

"Ray? Are you all right?"

He squinted at me. "Fraser?" The sound of his voice was too loud for him. "Goddammit - my head."

"What happened?"

"Dunno. I came out to see this guy, and next thing I know, I'm coming to with a headache the size of Peru and a knife in my lap." Oh, dear God.

He seemed to notice where - and in what - he was sitting, for the first time. "Oh fuck - I gotta get out of this stuff. Jesus." He struggled to stand, revulsion at the gore stark on his face.

"Ray, be careful. That blood will be slippery." And you'll destroy the evidence, I added silently. He pushed himself up the wall, then stood away from it, swaying. I could see from where I was standing that he also had blood on the side of his head from the blow which knocked him out. I reached across and helped him step over the corpse carefully, and made him sit in an uncontaminated chair. I made the necessary call to my sergeant, and also asked him to bring some overalls for Ray to use.

I asked Ray to remain still, and fetched my first aid kit from the jeep. I examined the wound on his head, which was heavily bruised around the cut. He was undoubtedly suffering from concussion, and would need to be watched. The laceration on his chest was long but shallow, and although painful, did not require stitches. I got him to remove his shirts so I could patch him up.

He shivered, holding his arms around his bare chest. "Can I put them back on, Fraser? I'm cold." He saw the negative answer in my face. "They're evidence, aren't they," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Ray. But yes. And your other clothes, as soon as my sergeant gets here. Why don't you tell me what you remember?" That was, unfortunately, not much. He could remember Fox opening the door to him, he seemed to remember hearing shouting but not who by or about what, and that was all until he woke up, about twenty minutes before my arrival. He hadn't moved from the position in which I'd found him.

My sergeant arrived, and after I briefed him on what I knew, began to examine the scene, and bag up the evidence, including Ray's shirts and the jeans which I had him take off. He put on the prisoner overalls with distaste, and missed the looks I exchanged with my superior, and his nod. I was going to hate what I had to do - Ray would likely never forgive me.

"Ray? Could you put your hands out please?"

He did so, with puzzlement, which turned to anger when I started to put the cuffs on him. He made as if to move away, but I gripped his arm, and he suddenly gave in. "What the fuck are you doing, Fraser?" he yelled.

"Stanley Raymond Kowalski, I am placing you under arrest for the murder..."

"Fraser, no! You know I didn't do this. Don't, Ben, please!" His anger was replaced by a sudden fear, which I regretted with all my heart, but I steeled myself against his heartrending pleas.

"For the murder of Andrew Fox..." I read him his rights, and when asked if he understood them, he shrugged. I pressed him to respond formally, and he replied sullenly, refusing to meet my eyes. I arranged with my sergeant that I would return to assist as soon as I had transferred Ray to the headquarters holding cell. I led him out to my jeep, and put him in the back seat. I could feel the force of his glare at the back of my head as I drove off.

"Why are you doing this, Fraser? Are you just pissed because I came out here on my own?" he demanded.

I pulled the vehicle over, turned off the engine and turned round to him. "Ray, look at it from my point of view. You come out here, without telling a soul, to see a man you are firmly convinced had something to do with your father's death. You admit to a confrontation with him, you admit you woke up holding a bloody knife, and you have no explanation as to how it got there. What would you have done, if our positions were reversed? What would you have me do?"

"You should believe me. Trust me." The hurt in his voice was almost too painful to bear.

"I do believe you. I do trust you. But I am an officer of the law and not just your friend. I have a duty to investigate this crime, and you have placed yourself in this position. Against, I might add, every advice and request of mine. So the question should be did you trust me to do my job properly? And the answer is, apparently, no, you did not." I couldn't keep all my anger from my voice.

"Ben, I didn't kill Fox."

I sighed heavily. "I know you didn't, Ray. And as soon as I get you settled at the station, I'm going to come back out here and prove it. I promise you, I will prove your innocence."

He made no reply, and had his eyes closed. He looked as if he was in pain, and undoubtedly his head was hurting him. With a heavy heart I started up the vehicle and drove into town. I stopped at the health centre, where he was x-rayed, and a skull fracture ruled out. As I had suspected, he did have a concussion - the nurse confirmed that Ray should be watched over the next 24 hours, and should rest. I doubt a cell was the most desirable way of achieving these ends, but at least it was one way of doing so, given that there was very little choice in the matter. I placed him in lock-up, and told him I would be back as soon as possible. He lay on the cell cot and ignored me - I knew he was feeling nauseous from the head injury, and so could be excused for being a little taciturn, but I could have been talking to the dead for all the response I got. I asked my fellow officer to keep a close eye on his condition, and to ensure he was woken every two hours, then left for the farmhouse again.

The body had to be transported to Inuvik for an autopsy, and a forensic team was flown down from there to go over the house. I checked the house carefully, and noted the kitchen contents. Until fingerprint and blood matches were back, Ray would have to remain in custody. I also called Maggie - she would hear about the case, and I wanted her to get the details from me. She was sympathetic when I said I'd had to arrest Ray.

"Ben, I know you did the right thing. I also know he couldn't have done it."

"I agree with that completely, Maggie. The evidence for his guilt is circumstantial, but, so far, so is the evidence which could clear him."

"If anyone can find it, Ben, you will. Tell Ray I'm thinking of him."

"I will. So am I."

My colleague had obtained a meal for Ray, but it was a waste of time. Ray was still chalky white, and in no condition to eat. I pulled a chair up so I could talk to him.

"Maggie says she's thinking of you, Ray." No response.

"Does your head hurt?" Nothing.

"Is there someone I should call for you?"

At last some movement, and the arm came off his eyes. "Fraser. Please. Just fuck off, will you? Thank Maggie, yes, my head hurts, and no, I don't want anyone to know I'm in jail, okay?"

I'd already gathered he'd refused legal assistance, which might have been demonstrative of his innocence, but was perhaps not very wise. "I'm worried about you, Ray."

He sat up, wincing at the light, and the pain in his head. "Well, you shouldn't bother. You already decided I did it, there's a surprise. The perfect end to a perfect year."

"I haven't decided anything of the sort, Ray. We're just trying to get the facts."

"Facts. That's what got Beth Botrelle. That's what's gonna kill me."

I was horrified that I had forgotten the obvious connection - I really should have remembered this sooner. "Ray, I swear on my mother's grave, and by any oath you want, I will *not* allow you to be convicted unless there is overwhelming evidence of your guilt. That evidence will have to satisfy me, never mind any court of law. And the facts will prove your innocence."

Ray's face showed no trust at all. "Swear all you want, Mountie. You got no control over the process, any more than I did. Now could you leave me alone? I don't feel so good." He lay back down, and rolled over to face the wall.

I went home, but there was no sleep in store for me that evening.

When I started my shift the next morning, I found Ray had spent a restless night, disturbed by pain and by the obligatory two-hour wake up calls. He was, understandably, in a foul temper, and again refused to eat. I let it slide, and after providing him with reading materials, left him alone.

I had calls to make, to Chicago, direct to a Lieutenant Welsh, Ray's former employer at the Chicago Police Department. I told him about the status of the case, and reluctantly told him that I'd had to arrest Ray. He was dismayed at this development, and promised to do what he could at that end to investigate the whereabouts and activities of Mike Thompson. The man sounded sincere and genuinely worried about Ray. I hoped he was as good as his word.

We wouldn't hear for at least another twenty-four hours from the lab in Inuvik. I went over my notes as carefully as I could, and made sure every lead was being followed. Still it was a frustrating wait, and I knew if I was frustrated, Ray would be feeling this ten-fold. I went back to his cell at lunchtime, and offered to get him lunch. When he refused, I was forced to be stern.

"Ray, this could end up with you being force-fed, if necessary."

"Go for it, Ben. You just want a chance to get your rocks off, pawing me, without you having to admit how much you want it."

He was being cruel, trying to hurt because he was hurting. He was partly successful but I tried to keep my temper. "Please, Ray. This won't go any faster for you because you aren't co-operating. And you'll feel better if you eat something."

"Doesn't matter, Ben. I won't be up here for the winter, so I don't need the extra weight, do I?"

The dullness of his voice, the lack of hope worried me. "Are you threatening suicide, Ray?"

"Don't have to, Fraser. My life's finished. My family's dead. I'm dead. We're dead." This was so unlike the Ray I knew that I seriously contemplated getting a doctor in to see him. But then he seemed to change his mind, the tension in his shoulders and his face suddenly disappearing, leaving nothing but a weary resignation. "Okay," he said unenthusiastically, "get me a chicken sandwich, if that'll make you happy."

Relieved, I got the local store to make up the order, and to bring it over. Ray was sitting on the floor, near the outer wall when I brought it in, and for the first time since I'd arrested him, he looked me in the eye. All his anger was gone, and what was left was a tired, rather ill-looking man.

"Ben, I'm scared." His voice shook, and I could see he was indeed worried almost to death. It was a recurring nightmare of mine to find myself in prison without cause, and here he was, living it. I knelt down, and against regulations, I put my hand through the bars, and touched his shoulder. He seized my hand desperately and squeezed it.

"Ray, I'm here. I'll be here for as long as it takes."

"What if I have to go to prison, Ben?" His voice almost disappeared.

"You won't. But if you do - I won't desert you."

"Promise?" he whispered. I squeezed his shoulder.

"Absolutely."

He nodded, and without looking at me again, got up slowly, took the sandwich and retreated to the bed, closed off from me again.

I checked on Ray when my shift ended, but he was asleep. I told my fellow constable I would return with Ray's supper. I felt totally at a loss - there was nothing else I could do, except wait for the wheels of other investigators to turn. And meanwhile, the man I was falling in love with, against all my instincts, was giving up hope. I had done my duty, had imprisoned a good and honest man, and had helped crush a damaged and fragile spirit that had suffered more than should be borne by anyone. I had taken from him what I would hesitate forever to remove from Dief - his freedom. I had to be able to restore that to him, or I would never be able to live with myself.

I returned to headquarters at six with supper for Ray and myself. He looked a little better, although his head still hurt a good deal, and his chest wound was uncomfortable. Reluctantly he took some pain medication, then leaned back on the wall, looking exhausted. At least he wasn't ignoring me any more, and he made an attempt to eat the stew I made. He apologised for not being able to finish it.

"Don't seem to have much of an appetite, Ben."

"Don't worry, Ray. You look better. How do you feel?"

"Like a condemned man who just ate a not very hearty meal."

"Ray," I chided.

He put a tired hand up. "Yeah. I know. You promised. But what happens when I get out, Fraser? What about you and me?" He turned the full force of his gaze upon me, and I nearly lost myself in those wide blue eyes. I had to force myself to remember where I was.

"Nothing's changed there, Ray. You get out, you go home. I hope you'll remember me with some fondness."

He twisted so he was facing me where I was sitting cross-legged, outside the bars, and put a hand on my knee through them.

"And what about you? Will you remember me, Ben?"

"I... I suspect I might, yes, Ray." My throat had gone terribly dry.

"Tell me again why you won't have me."

A reasonable question, to which I had no reasonable answer. "Because you don't live here, Ray, and I don't do casual relationships. Because you're a friend." Because if I did, I would never be able to let you go, I added silently.

"I want whatever you can offer me, Ben."

I stood up. "Ray." I stopped. What could I say to convince him? "You're still in love with your ex-wife. You want children. Your family is in Chicago, as are your friends. These are good reasons for us to go no further than we have. Think of this... as a holiday romance." This elicited a disgusted snort from him. "All right, perhaps not a holiday. But your situation up here is unreal. You'll go home, and find a woman, or a man, to settle down with. In your own territory."

He looked at me with sad eyes. "Ben, for a smart guy, you come up with some dumb shit, you know that?" But he said no more, and I left, kicking myself mentally for ever giving in to temptation and causing pain for both of us. Ray needed this on top of his other troubles like a hole in the head.

I went to bed, but again couldn't sleep. When I had rolled over for what felt like the hundredth time, even Diefenbaker complained.

"Oh for god's sake, Dief. You're deaf, you can't even hear me." He treated this with the contempt it deserved. I sighed and gave up, got dressed and went down to headquarters again. The holding cells were dimly lit, and Ray was apparently asleep. I slid silently to the ground, and sat, as I had over dinner, cross-legged, watching him rest. I saw him roll over, until he was flat on his back. He was only wearing a T-shirt and boxers - he'd refused to wear the long johns in prison, and perversely, I was glad of that. Glad for me and for him that when this nightmare was over, there would be something untainted by this experience that he could share, and that I could remember him by.

He had kicked off the blankets, since the cells were well heated. He looked so terribly young, so vulnerable, in his underwear, his face lax and open in sleep. Not at all like the seasoned cop I knew him to be, nor the battle weary, troubled person he had become since his parents' death ... and now this latest blow. Now I saw the child-like innocent who had played with Maggie's offspring, with a heart made for love and for light.

I watched him for a half-hour or more, the sight curiously reassuring. After a while, just as I was beginning to relax enough that I thought I could go home and sleep myself, I heard him mutter something. His hand stole through his fly and took hold of his half-erect penis, and with a soft moan, still apparently asleep, he began to touch himself. I held my breath, knowing I should give him his privacy, but being unable to move, mesmerised by the sight and sounds of him doing what I so longed to do. He continued to stroke himself slowly, sensuously, seeking comfort rather than release. I realised what his quiet murmurs consisted of - my name, over and over - and felt myself harden in desire and empathy, wishing I could take the step of opening the door and making his fantasy a reality. After a long while, he rolled towards me with a quiet sigh, then his eyes opened, and looked straight at me. He seemed unsurprised to see me there. He just smiled lazily, and lay watching me with sleepy eyes, until, embarrassed, and ashamed at my voyeurism at a captive man's expense, I rose and left, to return to my cold and empty bed.

I woke from too few hours' sleep, feeling exhausted and depressed, wondering if there were new depths to which I could sink today. I couldn't face seeing Ray, and relied on my colleague to provide his breakfast and to report on his status before going off shift. I moved papers around desultorily, and read the reports from other detachments, but all I was really doing was waiting until the reports came in from Inuvik. Until that happened I could not concentrate on anything.

Finally, at noon, I could stand it no longer, and called the lab, where the news was too good for me to be annoyed that they had delayed imparting it. I asked them to fax it to me immediately, and the second it came through, I tore it out of the machine, telephoned my sergeant, got his approval, and then almost ran to the holding cells. Ray was lying down, an unread newspaper on his chest. I unlocked the cell, and he looked up.

"Ray - you can go home. " He sat up, and I was reminded of wild life films I had seen of captive returns to the wild - how the captured animal was often strangely reluctant to leave the cage. Ray had that look on his face now - unbelieving, a little afraid, uncertain. I went over and gripped his arm, and almost lifted him off the cot in my enthusiasm.

"I'm clear? They proved it?"

I nodded, and collected his few belongings.

"I can go?" He still didn't believe it.

"Ray, come on. You don't want to spend a second longer in here than you have to. Come out, we'll have lunch and I'll tell you."

"I can go?" he repeated.

He was in shock, I realised. I took his face in my hands. "Ray, you are free. We're not charging you. You can go. Come on."

He started to shake, and had to sit down on the bunk, suddenly unable to stand. I sat next to him, put my arms around him and held him until he stopped, patting his back and soothing him.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I was... I thought..." His voice was shaky too. I hadn't appreciated, until that very moment, just how desperate he had become, thinking he was going to prison.

"It's okay. Let's go." He let me lead him out into the main office area, and I retrieved his shoes and personal belongings. He was clearly in no state to make decisions, so I ordered soup and sandwiches to be delivered, then made him sit at a spare desk. He gripped the front of my shirt.

"Tell me, " he ordered in a hoarse voice.

I explained. The knife we found - a serrated bread knife probably belonging to the victim - was not the murder weapon, but did have Ray's blood on it, so was probably what had caused his chest wound. The only trace of Fox on it was thought to have come from lying in the blood from Fox's death wound - not from an original injury. There was a third blood group found at the scene, on the knife, on Ray's clothes and in a spray pattern on the wall, and a partial print on a coffee mug that belonged neither to Ray nor the victim.

"The coffee was also black and unsweetened. As there was a cup of unsweetened tea, apparently the victim's judging by the prints, and since you always have sugar in your drinks, there had to have been a third party there that morning. There was also a set of tire tracks that did not match your car or Fox's. I saw them when I arrived, but forensics confirmed it. Someone else was there that morning, and probably knocked you out and killed Fox. "

"Who?"

"We don't know, but I've asked your Lieutenant Welsh to check on the movements of Thompson. I have a theory about all of this."

The food arrived just then, but Ray ignored it. "What theory, Ben? I can't handle any more of this. Just tell me."

I made him eat while I talked. "What I think happened was that Fox and Thompson 'switched' murders. Thompson wanted your father dead, and Fox wanted Polansky dead, for reasons we haven't as yet ascertained. They must have, at some point, met and decided to kill the other's intended victim. With no apparent motive, and with airtight alibis for their 'own' victim, they planned to get off scot free."

"But when you started nosing around Hanson, Thompson got nervous, and decided to shut Fox up."

I nodded. "Yes, I believe so. This is all speculation of course, but once we get a DNA match on the blood and identify the print, I think we will be able to tie Thompson to Fox, and hopefully, to the other murders as well."

"It's over, then? I can go home?" Ray's hopeful voice cut me to the quick - I wanted so desperately for him to stay that bit longer ... wanted him to want to stay.

"Well, you're still a suspect, officially, so we'd prefer it if you remained in the area."

He was thoughtful for a time, chewing his sandwich slowly, apparently enjoying it as he had done no other food these past forty-eight hours. "I can stay," he said finally. "Got nothing to go back for." He looked at me, pointedly. "You want I should stay at Charlie's now?"

"If that's what you want, Ray." I tried not to let my voice influence him. He had, after all, been through a great deal, and God knew I had given him little reason to come back to me.

"You want me to move out?"

Then I saw that he desperately needed reassurance. He still couldn't believe he truly had a choice, that he was free of this mess. "No, Ray. You can stay as long as you want. It's your decision entirely. Charlie will happily take you. As would I."

"I know I shouldn't, but... can I come back with you?"

I almost sighed with relief. "Yes. With the greatest pleasure, Ray." I couldn't conceal my delight, nor did I try. This was not a day for hiding. He smiled, with the first sign of happiness since I'd found him two days ago, drenched in another man's blood and his own.

 

* * *

Despite his obvious weariness, he stayed at headquarters until my shift finished. I thought he would want to go straight back to my place, but he wanted to see Charlie first, to explain and to apologise. Charlie let him make his speech, then told him to sit down.

"Ray, lad, you made a cock-up for sure, but I'm relieved we didn't have to start collecting for a wreath. If you want to come back here, I'd be delighted. But you've got a bad bump on your noggin and I think you'd be better off taking things easy this week. Now, would you like a dram, to celebrate getting out?" Ray gave him a half-smile, and nodded. I could tell he felt guilty for letting Charlie down, and that was one burden I felt he had to shoulder on his own. Not for the first time, I cursed the impulse that led him to Fox's farmhouse.

Charlie returned with three glasses and a bottle. "Now, Ben, you'll be joining us, won't you? Since it's a special occasion?"

"Yes, of course. Just this once." I saw Ray watching me, but he said nothing as Charlie poured out the measures.

"It's my best Islay single malt," he explained, showing us the bottle. "An acquired taste, they say, but if you can stand it, there's no finer drink in the world." I wondered a bit at this - the Islay whiskies, in my extremely limited experience, are not for beginners, and to the normal American palate, used to sipping bourbon, I suspect they tasted unpleasantly medicinal. Ray was being tested. I hoped he knew that. Charlie offered a toast to Ray's health, and we drank.

The spirit burned my mouth, and the iodine taste was, as always, a shock, to add to the bite of the alcohol, but it was a rich, sweet, smoky flavour that one definitely either loved or hated. I saw Ray's eyes widen in surprise, but then he took another sip, more slowly, more appreciatively. He looked at Charlie, who grinned, as did I. Ray had passed.

"Good stuff. Got more flavour than vodka," Ray opined.

"That's a fact. I was weaned on this, Ray, my boy. It spoils you for the blended muck, that's the only problem." Ray nodded, and I realised that he'd probably made a friend for life. Charlie was a temperate man, but fiercely proud of his heritage. I was a disappointment in that, despite my Scottish blood, I did not share his enthusiasm for 'uisge beatha'. A customer at the bar called Charlie away, leaving us alone again.

Ray sipped his scotch, but I left mine where it sat. "You don't drink, Fraser?"

I shook my head. "Not usually, no. I don't like losing control."

"No, you don't, do you? You don't drink, don't swear, don't fu... don't fall in love. You got any vices at all?"

"I disappoint people. But only for a hobby."

He smiled at my self-deprecation but with a sadness behind his eyes. "You could find better things to do, you know."

"I know. But sometimes, up here, there's no choice to be had."

"Maybe sometimes you don't see what's under your nose, Fraser."

"You're probably right, Ray."

Ray finished his drink, and I gulped mine back quickly, making my eyes water, but not wishing to insult Charlie by leaving it. We thanked him and said goodbye, before walking down the dark street to my house.

"Deja vu," I said.

"What?"

"I was referring to the night I met you."

"Oh." Ray seemed lost in thought, and disinclined to talk. He had been subdued ever since his release, and I could not determine why, whether it was because of the experience of confinement, or once again, grief over his losses and experiences. Once inside, I put the kettle on, more for something to do than the need for caffeine. I came and sat next to Ray.

"Are you all right?" He made an effort to sit up, but I could tell he was in pain. "Should I get you some aspirin?"

He started to refuse, but then agreed. "Damn headache won't leave me alone."

"Do you think you need to see a doctor?"

He shook his head. "I've been knocked out before, Fraser. I used to box. Just feed me the aspirin, I'll be okay." I doubted very much if the aspirin would touch what was really troubling him, but I would let him tell me, in his own good time.

I made the tea and coffee, and brought the cups and the painkillers over to Ray. He took the pills, and washed it down with the hot drink, then closed his eyes and settled back on the sofa. I thought for a minute he was going to fall asleep, which might have been no bad thing, but then he spoke, his eyes still shut.

"I was afraid the forensics were going to prove I did it. Keep dreaming that they did. I couldn't have handled that... if I'd killed him."

"I never thought it was possible, Ray."

"Not at all, Fraser?" He sounded disbelieving, and I forced myself to be entirely truthful.

"Well, there was a tiny possibility that you had had some sort of brain storm or fit, and killed Fox during it. But other than that, no."

"How can you be so sure of that, Fraser? I wasn't even sure. I couldn't remember a thing. Still can't. I could have killed him. You said yourself that I had motive, I sure had opportunity. What makes you so sure?"

"I think you are simply incapable of such an act, Ray." His blue eyes opened, and searched my soul. "A man who received three citations for bravery as a police officer, a man who resigned on a point of honour because a convicted criminal was put to death even when he had no power to stop it, a man whose former boss is even now moving heaven and earth to help exonerate him completely, because like me, he has total faith in him - that man, Ray Kowalski, would not commit murder."

He closed his eyes again wearily, as if my vehemence had tired him. "Couldn't live with that. I'd rather be in prison as an innocent man, than be a murderer."

I put my hand on his knee, and he put his hand over my mine, holding it tightly. "Ray, you are neither a murderer, nor are you going to prison. It's over. And I believe that soon we will know who killed your father."

"Soon," he echoed. His lack of spirit was worrying me. Even if it was my duty, still, I had done him a great wrong. Some wild things are not meant to be caged.

I left him alone on the sofa, stroking Dief thoughtfully, and went into the kitchen to prepare our supper. When I came back into the living room, he had slumped sideways, the coffee mug dangling from lax fingers. I removed it, then fetched a rug and pillow, sliding the latter under his head, swinging his long legs up on the sofa and covering him. He slept all through my activity - his weariness must have been bone deep. Even Dief was aware of this, and although he moved up onto the sofa to lay alongside his new friend, he made no sound. I left the two in peace, and read quietly, watching them occasionally, relishing the pleasure of having Ray back, for however long I could.

He slept so long that I had my supper, and was thinking that for the sake of his back, I really ought to start to move Ray into his bedroom. I had come back into the living room for that purpose when he suddenly rolled over, eliciting a startled yelp from Diefenbaker, and an equally startled 'Jesus!' from the human. He sat up, looking dazed, then remembered where he was.

He rubbed his face. "How long was I asleep?"

"About three hours. Are you hungry?"

He shook his head. "I think I just want to go to bed." He got up and went to the bathroom. When he came back, he stood in the living room, as if uncertain what he should do next, and I suddenly knew what I could do - what I had to do - to help make things right. I went to him, and put my arms around him, and he melted into them, as if being held by me was the most important thing in his world.

I let him go, then took his hand. He looked at me questioningly, and for my answer, I led him to my bedroom. "I think you should sleep here tonight, Ray." His eyes burned into me, trying to divine my intentions. I unbuttoned his shirt, and took it off, and lifted his T- shirt over his head. I made no move to remove his jeans, but he did that himself, sitting to take off his shoes. I stripped down to my underwear, then took his hand again, and made him lie down, where I covered him, and slipped into bed beside him.

"Ben..."

"Shhh, Ray. Rest now." He turned towards me, snuggling into me as if we had been sleeping together for years, instead of seconds. Holding him felt so right, so good. How was I going to be able to give this up? But all that mattered, for now, was his warm body next to mine, his peaceful breathing, and at last, I hoped, a good night's rest for a troubled soul.

I had to rise early as usual to run my wolf, and go to work. I had slept deeply, and Ray hadn't stirred, that I could tell. He was still asleep when I got up. I felt a dangerous contentment about having been with him all night - I could get used to it so easily. And to the sight of his beautiful face, next to my head, on my pillow. I sighed as I closed the door behind me, and reflected there were more unpleasant tortures, at least.

Lieutenant Welsh had faxed a report to me about Mike Thompson, advising that airline records showed that he had flown to Inuvik the day before Fox was killed. On the strength of our investigations up here, he was seeking a warrant for his arrest for the murder of Ray's father, and then DNA testing of the third blood sample at the crime scene could be matched against one from Thompson. I felt we were closing in on the man, even though motives were being singularly elusive. Terence Hanson had already been charged with obstruction of justice, and if it were proved that he was connected to a possible murder, he could be charged with being an accessory to this crime. We had yet to prove that a third murder, that of Polansky, had actually taken place. My fellow officers and I were still searching Fox's farm, but had not yet found anything incriminating. All that we needed was proof of a link between him and Thompson, and a reason for wanting Polansky out of the way. I felt we were not far from seeking an extradition of Thompson to Canada.

Ray came in at lunchtime, smiling broadly, and carrying a paper sack. "Brought lunch," he said, holding it up. He looked happier than I had seen him since Maggie's, and better rested than in days.

"You're looking chipper, Ray," I said, opening the bag with a sandwich in it.

He grinned at me around a mouthful of food. "I feel great, Ben. Slept good."

"I'm glad." We looked at each other for a moment then both of us suddenly found the desk at which we were seated to be of irresistible interest.

"Ray..."

"Ben..." he started at the same time. We both stopped.

"We have to talk."

He shook his head. "I think this works better if we don't, okay?" I started to argue, but he put his hand up. "Trust me on this, Fraser." Well, he had a right to ask that.

I forced myself to return our attention to more mundane matters. "There's more news, by the way."

"What?"

"Thompson." I quickly filled him in on the latest development. His cheerful mood disappeared, and was replaced by the grim determination I had seen so much of since I first met him.

"This is it, Ben. I can feel it."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right. Once we have connected Thompson to Fox, I am sure the rest of the story will become clear."

With effort, I was able to divert Ray away from the case again. There was nothing he could do, for now, and I felt he would be better to let the RCMP handle it, and just recover from the attack upon himself, and the worry of the past two days. I asked him what he'd done with himself all morning.

"Just walked. Took Dief, let him take me where he wanted. Places without walls. Places without people. I needed to think."

"Did it help?"

He gave me a rueful smile. "Some. Not about everything. Dad's still dead. Mum's still dead. I still got no plans, and nothing much to go on for."

His words made my heart go cold. He had to go on. A world without this bright soul wasn't worth living in. A place where he was not, I was coming to believe, was not worth staying in either. But I said nothing of this to him. I had no right to claim him or his presence. He had to make his own choices.

He hung about until my shift ended, and then suggested we walk down to the river edge and along it. He'd acquired a new sweater, and warmer clothes - his replacement bank and credit cards had arrived while he was being held - but the chilly air was still a shock to the system after the heated detachment building.

"Do you think you can get used to the cold, Ben? I mean, if you aren't born here?"

"I really don't know, Ray. But many people do emigrate to Canada - like Charlie. And Scotland isn't as cold as it gets here, so he must manage."

He asked me about the area, and about the people, logging it all in his fertile brain, but not making much comment. His company was enjoyable nonetheless, and he was clearly relishing the freedom of being out of jail. We didn't talk about the main thing that was concerning us both. But it was very much in our minds, I knew, even as we talked of other things. The night before, we had stepped over one of my self-imposed barriers. How much further into the prison of my denial Ray was willing to go, I could not say, nor know whether I would permit it. Until he tried.

We walked slowly back to my house, silence having overtaken us. Speech was becoming redundant, anyway - I felt I could tell what he was thinking just by looking at him these days. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he could do the same with me, which was uncomfortable to contemplate. I'd spent a long time cherishing the privacy of my thoughts. Once inside my home, Ray offered to cook, which at least released me from the need to make conversation with him. In fact I left him to it, and spent some time communing with my wolf. I had to tell him that I didn't appreciate being pushed, thank you very much, and would make my own mind up, in my own time. Water off a wolf's back, I'm afraid.

Ray entered the living room with a laden tray, and I helped him set it down. His cooking skills were adequate, if somewhat basic, but it is hard to ruin good Canadian beef, and he could mash a potato as well as any one I knew. He ate with relish, and I was glad to see his appetite had returned - he could ill afford to lose any weight off his thin frame. He saw me smiling at him.

"What are you looking at, Fraser?"

"Why, you, Ray. I'm just happy to have you here."

"Guess it wasn't much fun for you these past couple of days either."

"That, my friend, is the understatement of the century. I hope I never see the like again."

"Now you know how I felt over Beth Botrelle."

"A little. At least I got you back safely."

"And now you have me, what are you going to do with me?" He looked at me with challenge in his eyes, but I couldn't answer. I started to clear the dishes, but he gripped my wrist, as I moved for his plate. "Ben. We can't ignore this forever."

"I thought you said we shouldn't talk about it." I freed my wrist carefully, and continued stacking the plates, not meeting his eyes.

"Talk, no. Think, yes."

"And what makes you think I'm not thinking about it?"

He stood up, took the plates out of my hands, and set them down again. He took my hands, pressed them together, and lifted them to his chest.

"Are you thinking about it?" he said softly.

"Yes." The admission came out as a whisper, against my will.

"What are you thinking now?"

"Ray ... I don't think I can do this."

"Is that what you're thinking, Ben? Really?" He moved in closer, until our chests were separated only by the width of my clasped hands in his. I could feel his breath on my face.

"No, it's not what I'm thinking."

"Let me guess. Maybe it's that you're thinking how nice it would be if I did this," he untangled his hands, and put his arms low around my waist, pulling us closer, "or maybe, if I were to do this," he moved his arms higher, and put a hand to the back of my head, drawing it to him, so my cheek rested on his," or maybe," he moved his head, so he could touch his lips with mine,"you're thinking that the best thing would be if I did this." He brushed his lips against mine, and gave a little sigh, the breath cool against my damp lips. When I didn't protest, he kissed me again, deeper, his tongue darting quickly in between my teeth. I pulled back so I could speak.

"Ray...."

"Is that a 'yes, Ray' or a 'no, Ray'?

"I don't know." He kissed me again, pulling me closer. I pulled my hands free from between us and grasped the sides of his head, then I was the aggressor, seeking that wonderful mouth, that agile tongue. He responded in kind, until we were both breathless, and at last it was he who had to come up for air.

"Jesus, Ben, you're something else in the lips department." I grasped his arms, and pulled myself out of his embrace. "Hey...!" he protested.

"Ray ... where is this going?"

"I don't know, Ben. Never was much of a one for maps. You got a direction in mind?"

I shook my head.

"Liar. You want me, you know you do. Why can't we have this?"

"I told you before - I don't want a casual relationship."

"You think too much, Ben. Look, let's pretend. I got a head injury, so pretty much anything I do you can put down to that. And you? Well, since I can't get you pregnant, and I don't have AIDS, syphilis or hepatitis, and I don't want your money, or your house, or your wolf, and I don't want to sell a story to the papers about my wild night of passion with a Mountie in scenic Norman Wells - what the hell have you got to lose?"

"My soul, Ray. My heart. I don't take any of this lightly."

He stepped away from me, and frowned. "Neither do I, Ben. Do I look like the playboy of the western world to you? The one night king of Chicago?"

"No, of course not..."

"You've been saying this for days - you don't do casual, you don't want temporary. You ever stop and ask what the hell *I* want? Maybe *I* don't want casual, maybe *I* don't want temporary either. Did you ever stop and think of that?"

"Chicago, your home...."

"Fuck that, Ben. What have I got down there? I told you. Nothing. The question is, what do I have up here?"

"I don't know."

"Well, neither do I, but I know one thing for sure - if I can have one night of love with you, it would sure make going home a little easier, having that to remember. You want it, I want it. You'll only get hurt if you let it."

I looked at him, desire stark on his face, mixed with irritation at my equivocation, and ... oddly, a little fear. That at least, I understood - the fear of being rejected, of facing the future alone. I knew that one.

"One night?" I said quietly.

He came back to me, and put his arms around me, his head on my shoulder, swaying us gently from side to side. "Whatever you can give me. I'm not proud - or tired." He lifted his head, and I saw a cheeky grin, and strangely it was that which finally decided me. I loved his smiles, his every grin, and if making love to me would make him happy, I wanted to do it. That I would enjoy it - and regret it - was a given.

"Okay. One night." He gave me a beautiful smile, almost breaking his face in two. "Let me ... I just want to...." I was too embarrassed to say what I wanted, but he guessed.

"Maybe a shower would be a good way to start, Ben."

Good God ...showering with him. He saw my blush. "First time?"

I nodded. "Uh, for several things, in fact."

He stopped still and stared at me. "Ben, can I get this clear? Have you actually *been* with a guy before?"

I could only shake my head, my face flame red in embarrassment.

"Holy shit, Fraser - you mean... you never....? Oh Jesus." He collapsed into the armchair, his face a picture of self-disgust. "Fuck it, Ben, you coulda said. I don't do rape well, you know."

I couldn't let him put this on himself. I came and knelt by his chair. "Ray, it's okay. It's not that I haven't thought about it, or wanted it... it's just..."

"Yeah, I know... you don't do casual. Fuck." The last word was spat out, and he put his head in his hands, as if it hurt him. I reached up and rubbed the side of his neck. He took my hand and pulled it away, held it in his, in front of him. "Ben, I'm sorry. If I'd known, I wouldn't have pushed like this. You deserve more than this. God, I suck."

He was truly upset. I took his hand and rubbed against my cheek. His eyes met mine, and I was shocked to see tears starting in his. "Ray, don't do this. I was aware of my history when I agreed to this. I still want it, if you do. I don't deserve you at all. It is you who should have more than a... than a fumbling virgin lover."

"I don't think you ever fumbled a damn thing in your life, Ben Fraser." I was delighted to see a tiny smile, then he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "We could go easy - we don't have to do everything - or anything. I just want to hold you, have you hold me. I just want you. The rest ..." he waved a hand dismissively, "that isn't important." He rubbed the hand on my cheek up and down, then put it under my chin. "I'm sick of being alone. And I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone in my whole life."

I took his hand away and kissed it. "As you said, Ray. The same for me, every word of it."

He looked at me seriously. "Ben ... this isn't just sex, for me. Not just company, not a buddy fuck. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. But as you said, maybe this would work better if we didn't talk about it." He had not said the words nor made any promises, but for once, I was prepared to take the chance. I stood up, still holding his hand. "Do you still want that shower?"

In the end, we didn't shower together. Once Ray removed his shirts, and I saw the dressing over the long gash over his ribs, I insisted that we had to take care of that first, so Ray showered alone.

"You want to watch? You already seen most of what I got."

He really did have a knack of making me blush like a girl. "I didn't think you remembered it," I said guiltily.

He grinned cheerfully, utterly without embarrassment, stripping off and stepping under the stream of water, making quite a show for a starving Mountie. "Until right now, I thought I might have dreamt it. It was a nice dream."

"You didn't mind? I only went down there because I couldn't sleep."

"Hell no, Ben. I liked it. You want to soap my back while you're standing there?"

Ray wriggled appreciatively under my hands, but I exerted discipline over both of us and made him stand still while I removed the old wet dressing, applied antiseptic cream, and rebandaged the injury.

"Does it hurt?"

"A bit," he admitted. "Pulls when I move fast."

"Maybe we should...," I began, but he was too quick for me.

"No way, Ben. You want to stop, we stop. But not because of this. Okay?"

I nodded. I didn't really want to halt what we had started. Sensing that I am not quite as free and easy about nudity as he is, he left me to have my own shower alone. When I came into the bedroom, he was already under the sheets, and with me still wrapped in a towel, and only the bedside light illuminating the room, modesty was, for the moment, preserved. I sat on the bed next to him.

"Where do you ... how..." He sat up. "Hell, I don't know how to do this. I've never been with a guy for the first time - I mean, not since I was fifteen." His sense of fair play and sensitivity to my lack of experience was likely to be the death of me, as he agonised aloud as to whether he should show me what we could do, or to let me explore his body while he told me what to do.

Finally, in exasperation, I said, "Ray, I am not entirely without knowledge in this area."

"You're not? But you said..."

"There are books on the subject, you know, and I have conducted a certain amount of anticipatory research."

"Anticipatory..." he said faintly.

"Of course. Proper preparation prevents poor performance, you know."

Well, that did it. He laughed so hard I thought he was going to be sick, and just when I thought order was about to be restored, he looked at my slightly confused, irritated expression, and a fresh gale of laughter swept over him. He was curled up in a ball, still chortling, when I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Are you quite finished, Ray?"

"Nearly, Ben," he managed to gasp out.

"No, you're not," and before he could react, I launched my attack, applying my extensive knowledge of human anatomy to find his most ticklish spots. In between the gasps and giggles he was yelling.

"Bastard! No, Ben, stop it please ...I'll be good, no - not there!" At last I released him, and he lay, laughed out, tickled out, in a sprawl. My efforts had had the pleasing side effect of getting my hands onto him, and my towel had slipped, so it seemed quite natural to cast it aside. His face showed his appreciation of the extra flesh thus revealed. He reached for me, and drew me into a breathless kiss.

"Is that Canadian foreplay, Ben?"

"More of a pre-emptive strike, Ray."

He lay back. "Look, how about you do ... stuff ... and I'll, you know, whatever, and we'll just, sorta, go with the flow."

"That very nearly made sense."

"Good. But I think we should start with you down here," he said, drawing me down to lie next to him. The most natural thing to do in that position was to kiss, and we spent a good deal of time just doing that, our hands on each other, exploring long, muscled backs, smooth skin, the firmness of wide, male mouths and the strangeness, to me, of the feel of stubble against my face. It was also natural, given how closely we were embracing, for our arousal to become obvious to each other. I couldn't help but gasp when I felt his hardness against my own. Ray mistook this for alarm.

"We'll take it slow, Ben. We don't have to do anything about it tonight."

"I want to, Ray. I want to, very much."

"Uh, I don't suppose you got, you know, stuff here?" I was puzzled. "You know," he said, slightly embarrassed, "*stuff* - johnnies, rubbers...."

"Ah." The penny dropped. "No, Ray, I'm afraid not."

But he seemed unworried. "Okay, that's cool. Don't think we should get into that straight up."

"Pardon the pun."

"What?" Then he coughed and laughed. "Oh, right. Jesus, Ben, warn a guy, will ya?"

"Ray? Talking? Not a good idea, remember?"

"Okay. I can do that."

We kissed more, but with the evidence of our desire so plain, it was natural for hands to drift lower, to stroke and explore, to let the little sounds of appreciation and soft moans of each other's name be the best guide. Hands, at least, worked, for both of us - most men have some idea of what feels good, and it was just a matter of adjusting to angles, and differences in amounts of foreskin, and trying with limited success to keep concentration on the task while being systematically driven out of one's mind by one's ... lover. That was the word, now, for Ray to use about me, and for me about Ray. We were inside my prison now, and the walls were falling fast. But I was feeling much too wonderful, too aroused, too ... joyful... to care.

I felt Ray clutch at me. "Ben, slow down - I'm too close. Want it to last...." I took my hand away and moved it to his backside, making him jump.

"Sorry, Ray ..."

"It's okay, I was just surprised." I went to move my hand. "No, Ben, leave it. Feels nice. You can move it if you like." He showed me by cupping my buttock and gently squeezing, massaging. I copied his action, and won a pleasurable sigh from him. "Oh, yeah. That's good." Ray had very sensitive skin, I discovered, and liked to be stroked with the very ends of my fingertips as much as he liked firm kneading pressure, and by alternating the two, he was quickly reduced to a squirming moaning mass under my hands - a most erotic creation, to my mind.

"Geez, Ben - you sure you haven't done this before?"

"No, Ray. I told you."

"You could be lying, Fraser."

"Mounties don't lie, Ray."

"That must be ... uh, yeah, just there ... ooh...hard to keep up, Ben ... no, don't stop that...."

"Honesty's easier than lying."

"Gotta... oh, god, Ben! ...gotta get you to Chicago ... things're different there...."

I forbore from answering, since the power of speech was all but gone from Ray, and I was rapidly losing my ability to concentrate on anything other than his clever fingers which were simultaneously working my penis, and rubbing firmly at the base of my spine, making me feel as if my entire centre of existence had moved, delightfully, to my pubic bone.

"Ray, I..."

He understood immediately. "Close, huh? Here." He took one of the hands I had on his back, and put it back on his own erection. "Just do like before ... yeah, that's right, a bit faster..."

He got me to match his rhythm, and then there was silence, except for our heavy breathing, the soft slick sound of skin sliding against skin, until, with a muffled cry against my neck, he came, triggering me, and then there was the shocking heat of our semen against stomachs and hands, the sharp smell of it mixing with the scent of fresh sweat on our bodies. Ray moved his hand away and clasped me firmly to him, rubbing his face in the hollow of my shoulder.

"Good?" he asked. I could only nod. "Good."

We lay like that until the cooling ejaculate and the stickiness became unpleasant. I detached first, wringing a soft protest from him. "I'll be right back - just getting a cloth." He muttered something unintelligible.

In the bathroom, I washed myself, and looked at the smug messy man in the mirror. "You're in over your head, Benton Fraser, " I told myself severely - but the man in the mirror continued to grin back. I brought the warm damp cloth back and cleaned Ray off, which he seemed to enjoy as well. I went to get up to put the cloth away, but he seized my wrist with one hand, and grabbed the washcloth with other, throwing it in a ball into the corner of the room. He pulled me down.

"Sleep. Cuddle. Now," he ordered.

"Ray..." I felt I should say how much this meant to me, but he forestalled me.

"Ben. Don't talk. Just hold me. Trust me." I could do that, after all we had just done. I slipped under the covers and spooned up behind him, wrapping my arms around him, as if that were the only place they should ever be.

"We got to do this again, Ben. I haven't given you a blow job," he said sleepily, making me laugh into the back of his neck, and into a restful, dreamless sleep.

I felt guilty about waking him, but I felt I couldn't just slip out as I had done the night before. Things had changed too much for that. I stroked his cheek until I felt he was just at the edge of wakefulness, then kissed the edge of his jaw. "I'll see you later, Ray. Have to go," I said, quietly, not wanting to bring him completely out of sleep.

He murmured something, and rolled over in my arms, kissed me on the lips softly. "Mmmm. Thanks, Ben." I kissed his nose and slid out of bed. I saw he was already completely asleep again as I left the room.

The RCMP got poor value out of its officer that morning, and it didn't help that things were, as they had been all week, rather quiet - with the exception, of course, of the Fox murder. Lieutenant Welsh rang to say they had arrested Thompson and he was being questioned about all three deaths. He had injuries which could have been made by a knife, and which could account for the spray pattern at the murder scene, but this in itself was not conclusive. A DNA sample had been taken, but it would be at least ten days before a match could be made. I also rang Maggie as she had re-interviewed Hanson in Inuvik and obtained an admission from him that Fox had told him he was planning a trip to Chicago around the time of the fatal hunting trip. However, no flight records could be found, so if Fox did go across the border, he did so by road or rail. I faxed a report on this to Welsh, and suggested that a check of hotels in the vicinity of Kowalski senior's workshop be made to see if there was a record of Fox staying there.

I felt somewhat frustrated by all this second hand activity - I am someone who prefers to be out in the field, behind a dog sled in active pursuit, and although I enjoy the community policing here very much, I am forced to admit that I am primitive enough to enjoy a good chase as much as Diefenbaker. But in this case, only solid investigative police work would win us the prize. For Ray's sake, I was desperate to bring this to a successful conclusion. Only this would bring him some measure of peace.

It seemed that morning that all my thoughts, one way or another, were leading to a single point - a tall, lean specimen of Chicago manhood, the feel of whose skin my fingertips could still remember in exquisite detail, just as my face bore the slight burn to remind me of his blond stubble, and my lips, the tender bruising from our prolonged kissing. Having entirely skipped the usual teenage sexual hyperactivity due to my isolated childhood, and gone straight to a brief _amour fou_ with a criminal with a tragic destiny, I really had nothing with which to compare my present experiences. That it was delightful I needed no one to tell me. That it was intensely powerful and slightly frightening made me feel more unsure. Is this what it was supposed to be like, I wondered? Being unable to get the person out of one's mind? Gaining and losing erections several times a day just from thinking about him, remembering what we had done? I felt as if I was being swept away, and the old guideposts to which I had clung for so long were coming loose from their shorings. The only person I could talk to about this was Ray, and I was more than a little suspicious that he might encourage me to seize a transient pleasure, because that was what he would do, rather than because I would, in the long run, truly be happier. I knew he wanted me to be happy, but I doubted he knew me well enough to help me in this.

I sighed for the tenth time, grateful that I was working alone and thus not forcing anyone else to witness my puppy love. I was also grateful my wolf was with Ray - Diefenbaker was becoming more impertinent by the day. With difficulty I applied myself to the tasks for which I was actually being paid, being ever conscious of the time passing until my agreed rendezvous with Ray for lunchtime. When at last the object of my desire appeared, I was aware, with disgust, of a wholly infantile and un-Mountie-like smile on my face, which probably managed to convey the impression that I was mentally deranged. Ray didn't seem to mind - there was a grin of equal proportions stretching his own mouth. He handed me my lunch, but as I reached for it, he ambushed me, grabbing my arm and pulling me over for a quick - and definitely non-regulation - kiss.

"Ray!" I yelped.

He was unrepentant. "Sorry, Ben - I got a rep to keep up."

"And what would that be?" I said quellingly.

"Never was one to screw and run, Fraser - you gotta kiss your date when you see 'em, otherwise people think you're shallow, or insensitive, or something."

"Or something."

Something of my irritation finally got through to him. "I hope this bug up your ass isn't about last night."

"Not here, Ray." That came out more sharply than I intended.

He looked thoughtful. "It's 'here', isn't it. That's the problem. The Mounties, you and a guy? Is that it?"

I shook my head. "No. And I'm not going to discuss it. Do you want to know about Thompson or not?"

His expression became angry. "Do not do that, Fraser. Do not cut me off like that, when I'm trying to talk to you - like I don't matter. I asked you a polite question, in a polite way, and there's nobody listening. I think I deserve better than that."

So far had I sunk that an American was forced to correct my manners. "I apologise, Ray. You're quite right, I have no business snapping at you. And to answer your question - no, the Mountie thing is not a consideration. It's just ... you know ... us - I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed."

Suddenly he grinned. "And you don't like talking about personal things ... yeah. I know. I'm sorry. Tell me about Thompson." So quick to anger, so ready to forgive. I felt like a dullard in the face of his quicksilver nature.

We discussed the latest developments in the case, and Ray appeared satisfied with what we were doing. Once again he was disinclined to leave before my shift ended, and I wasn't sure if it was the company, lack of anything else to do, or perhaps some latent nostalgia for a police environment which kept him there, but I was more than happy for him to be with me. Out of respect for my sensibilities, he stayed away from the subject of our rapidly evolving relationship, but instead asked me about my background in the RCMP, and why I had joined. Unlike me, he had no legendary father to live up to. I was intrigued to learn that he had decided to join the police force because of an incident in his childhood involving a bank robbery. He told me, if it hadn't been for that, he might have gone straight into business with his father - or into finance like his brother, who now lived in Arizona.

"I'm surprised to hear you say that, Ray."

"Why? Can't you see me in a suit?"

"Well - actually, no. But the reason for my surprise is that you would seem to be a natural policeman. It's hard to imagine you doing anything else." He winced. Ah, the legendary tact of the Frasers. "I'm sorry, Ray..."

"Yeah - sometimes I can't get used to it myself."

"Would you ever go back?"

"Dunno. Welsh said I could, if I wanted. He was pretty nice about me going - he wasn't real happy about the Botrelle case either. He thought Jake Botrelle was a sack of shit - he said he wouldn't have been surprised if Jake'd shot himself, and there wasn't no murder at all. But I don't think I could. Time to move on."

"And do what?"

He gave a short laugh. "That's the $64,000 question, isn't it. What to do with Ray Kowalski?"

"What about your father's business?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't - not without him. Even just going through his papers to close down the business hurt like hell. Cars were his life."

"What would you like to do?"

"You're gonna laugh at me."

"Why would I do that, Ray?"

"Cos it's d-u-m dum, that's why." I cocked my head, waiting for the full answer. "Okay. I want to go on an adventure, just once before I die. You know - explore, discover something new - go where no-one's ever been."

"Canada's a great place for adventures." I tried not to sound too hopeful.

"Yeah - so I heard." He didn't elaborate, and I didn't press him further. I told him instead about the doomed expedition of Sir John Franklin to find the Northwest Passage. His only comment was that he'd like to find Franklin's hand one day, the one reaching for the Beaufort sea. I hoped the idea might grow on him.

We walked home together - and wasn't that a felicitous habit to get used to - and no sooner had I closed the door behind us than I was taken into a warm hug, and a deep kiss was being planted on my lips.

"Been wanting to do that all afternoon, Ben."

"Only all afternoon? I've been waiting all day. But you might let me get my uniform off first."

"Nope, that brown thing turns me on. Leave it."

I shook my head. "Ray, it's hard enough to maintain it as it is, much as I hate to deny you anything."

"OK, Mountie - you can make it up to me later on." He stepped up, and started to undo my buttons. I brushed his hands away.

"It's quicker if I do it."

"So I'll watch," he said, with a sly grin. That made me clumsy with embarrassment. "Thought you said it would be quicker."

"I don't usually have an audience, Ray," I retorted.

"Yeah - and whose fault is that, Fraser? Bet they could sell tickets. You gonna hurry up or am I gonna have to rip those clothes off ya?"

"You and whose army, Ray Kowalski?" He stuck his tongue out at me. "Well, that settles that, bucko - I'm not taking you back up to Maggie's, you're a bad influence."

"I'll just have to stay down here and ruin you then. Hurry up, will ya? I don't like waiting."

He groaned at me when I started to take off my shoes, and pulled me, hopping, into the bedroom, over my protests.

"Ray, I thought it was supposed to be for one night only."

"You never heard of extending a run, Fraser?"

"No, actually. What are you talking about? Is it something to do with toboggans?"

"Are you from another planet?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Ben - get those damn shoes off, get your damn pants off, and come up here." He sat back against the head board with his arms crossed. I noticed something and stopped.

"What now?"

"You're still dressed, Ray."

"Maybe I need help - I got a head injury, remember?"

Oh yes. Well, he might regret saying that. I finished stripping down to my underwear, and moved up the bed until I was next to him, and he cuddled me into him, and kissed my hair.

"God - need to touch you, Ben. Need to hold you. It's been such a long time. You feel so damn good."

I kissed and then gently bit the side of his neck, and he sighed softly. He seemed to want nothing more than to be held, which was comforting in more ways than one to me. I was not actually averse to the idea of another night of lovemaking with him, but at the same time, I was apprehensive. Just to be comfortable with someone - man or woman - was a novelty in itself for me. Yet to lie here in nothing but boxers and tee-shirt, next to a fully clothed man, hugging and kissing like two children, making small talk as the evening drew on, seemed so right - as if I had done it, wanted to do it, could do it for years. It surprised me slightly that a man as spiky as Ray could be so tender and loving in his intimate moments. It was that side of him that drew animals and children - and lonely Mounties - to him like moths to a candle.

At last I pulled free and sat up. "I should get supper for us."

"Not hungry, Ben."

"Nonetheless, I have to work in the morning. You're still recovering from an injury. We can't neglect mundanities."

"I hate it when you're all practical and logical, Fraser."

"We can't all work by instinct, Ray. Come on, you can peel the vegetables."

I put on a pair of sweat pants, and we went to the kitchen, where cooking became a companionable, intimate experience of stolen touches, a body moving behind the other to allow maximum contact, a head rested on the other's shoulder while pasta boiled. This was all new to me - I supposed Ray was used to it, having been married before. A nagging voice in my head kept reminding me not to let myself get in too deeply, but the rest of my brain was urging me to just enjoy it while it lasted. There would be more than enough time, when Ray left, to contemplate what I should perhaps not have embarked upon.

As we ate, I reminded Ray that I would still be working early shift when he started back at Charlie's. He pulled a face. "I'll never see you here."

"Unhappily, that is the case. However, I do have three days off coming up. I wondered if you might like to come camping with me up past Tulita on the Great Bear Lake for those few days." Dief barked at the magic word 'camping'.

"How does he do that, Fraser? He's deaf."

"He reads lips. I thought I told you. Do you want to come with me to the river?"

He shook his head and appeared annoyed. "I'm not on vacation up here, you know. Got a job to be done."

I took his hand. "Ray, I understand. But we are in the hands of others at the moment - we have to get a DNA match on the blood we found and that will take over a week. You've recently been injured and had a stressful time of it. And I'd be willing to bet, not with money of course, that you haven't had a break in a long time."

He nodded his head and looked sheepish. "Not for more than a year and a half. But it doesn't seem right, sliding off to have fun with you, when Dad's murderer is still on the loose."

"Will he be any more on the loose if you come with me?" He shook his head. "Then there is nothing to be lost. I think it would be good for you."

He suddenly grinned. "You just want to get me on my own so you can have your wicked way with me, don't you, Ben?"

"Darn, you've seen through my dastardly plan."

"Okay. I'll come with you. But I've never camped in my life, Fraser. What if something happens to you, to us?"

"It's quite safe, Ray - I'm not planning anything too strenuous. And unless something completely improbable happens, like I hit my head and go blind, or become paralysed, there's no need for you to worry."

"Won't it be kinda cold?"

"Well, it's not as if I intend for us to camp on an icefield. We'll take my sleeping bags, and ..."

"You've got ways to keep us warm?"

"Exactly."

"It's so cool we're on the same page, Ben."

"Yes, it is."

He helped me clear up. "Ben, " he said slowly, "you okay with this? I kinda jumped you when we got back, and I did say 'one night'. I meant that, but you were ..."

"Completely willing and able, Ray. I don't know what I'm doing any more than I suppose you do, but I freely admit I'm enjoying this very much. I like you very much. I liked what we did last night. I'd like to do more. But we don't have to. Like you, I am happy if last night is all we ever have, if it means I retain you as a friend."

He didn't say anything for a long time, and remained silent while he dried the dishes I washed. I put the kettle on to boil, and he came and held me around the waist as I put coffee and tea bags in the mugs, and made the drinks. But as I went to pick my cup up, he took my wrist, and made me face him.

"Ben ... look ... I'm out of practice with this ... and I don't want to freak you out or anything ... but I think I'm falling in love with you." He looked at me with worried eyes, fearful I would reject him, ask him to leave for this. I had to admire his bravery. I smiled to reassure him.

"I won't 'freak out', Ray. I think I probably fell in love with you the moment I met you," I said calmly, watching his expressive eyes change from astonishment, happiness, then puzzlement in quick succession.

"But ... why didn't you say something ... why the hell did you arrest me, you bastard?" He almost shouted the last part.

I didn't want this to degenerate into an argument. "Come and sit, Ray, bring your tea. I hoped we might talk about this over the camping trip, but as you've brought it up, well..."

He did as I suggested, and I could feel the confusion, and some resentment, radiating off him. I expect he thought I would follow my declaration by taking him in a wild embrace, perhaps hauling him off to bed for a night of passion. I don't work like that. Not any more. Not after... not after Victoria. Some lessons one never, ever forgets.

He sat and watched me, watched me peacefully drinking my tea. Impatient, he blurted out, "Ben, I just said I loved you."

"No, actually, Ray, to be precise, you said you were falling in love with me."

"And you said you ..."

"That I'm in love with you. Yes. And your question, in two parts, was why hadn't I told you, and why had I arrested you? And my answer to both is, what difference would it or should it make?"

He stared at me. "Ben, you say you're in love with me. I'm crazy about you. Of course it makes a difference, knowing that."

"How, exactly, Ray? We are already intimate, we already share accommodation and most of our free time. What other changes are required?"

"Are you for real, Fraser? What about the future? Us - being together."

"Nothing's changed there, Ray. I accept that being in love with you is wonderful, and almost overwhelming, " the serene tone of my voice perhaps giving the lie to this, "but I can't see how one can base plans for the future on it. I'm not about to leave the RCMP and come to Chicago for you - being a Mountie is who I am. If I leave, I won't be the same person who is in love with you now, or that you are in love with. We would both be hurt. For the same reason, I'm not going to ask you to leave your home and stay with me. I've been in love before. I doubtless will be again. But I have the life, more or less, that I want. You have a life in Chicago I know little about, but you presumably have things there you like. I'm not tossing the structure of my life away for a single, powerful emotion - it's like building a house by starting at the roof and forgetting the walls."

There was a look almost of dislike on Ray's face. "You're a cold fish, you know that, Fraser? What about passion, what about romance?"

"I believe I am experiencing that with you now, Ray, and will again - if you let me. Please don't think because I am trying to keep control over my feelings that they don't exist. But also don't think that my duty, my practicality - my logic - aren't essential to me. You asked why I arrested you. I had to - it was my duty. If I did not - if I had let Victoria go or if I had gone with her, I would not be the person I want to be."

"So I just go home to Chicago, and forget all about this?" he said, bitterness twisting his voice and his mouth. I strove hard to conceal how much this hurt me. His understanding was more important than my ego.

"You must do what is true to you, Ray. I cannot say what that is. You appear to want children. I cannot give you them. You appear to like sex with women and with men. You have to decide what you want most. You have to decide what you will do with your life now your father is dead. I will help and advise and care for you to the limits of my abilities. What I won't do is demand that you abandon your dreams and preferences to accommodate me. I love you too much for that. I would rather let you go, never see you again, than crush you that way. I hope you feel the same about me, and not ask for more than I can give."

He stood up, his frustration demanding a physical outlet. "I didn't know about this side of you, Ben. You're cold. You're logical..."

I held my hands out, asking for understanding. "I've been badly hurt, I've come close to losing my mind, my career - my life even. You don't know what I was like after Victoria, Ray. I came near to suicide more than once. Please don't judge me - it was ten years ago, and I still hurt. I'm not cold by nature. I'm not logical by birth. I've had to learn. I ... I'm not proud of being this way. I just am."

I didn't mean to sound pleading, but something in my voice reached out to him, and he came and sat by me, put his arms around me, kissed me softly. "Maybe I can teach you some new things, Ben. It doesn't have to be that way."

I leaned into him, feeling his strong arms holding me, wanting to protect me from myself, and I longed to be able to just let go, and let him sweep things along. But to where? What could I offer him? I couldn't live in Chicago, I'd die of misery in a city that size. I couldn't stand Moose Jaw, for heaven's sake. He, I more than suspected, would become bored in such a small place as Norman Wells. There were no words for what I wanted to say - I could only hold him closer, return his kisses. Hope that when the time came to part, we'd both escape with intact spirits, if not hearts.

"So, Benton Fraser, you still want romance, and you want passion?" he whispered in my ear.

"Yes, Ray Kowalski - if you'll have me."

"Okay. No strings. No regrets. Come to bed?" He stood up, and I let him lead me into the bedroom, let him strip me. His hands roved over my nakedness, as I undid his buttons and fly, peeled shirts off slowly, slid jeans down long legs, made him lift his feet and remove the pants. And then we stood, just touching, exploring, reacquainting fingers with flesh, lips with tongues, with earlobes, nipples. I wanted to show him, if only with my body, that the depth of my feeling for him was no less than his, that the coldness of my words did not express the fire in my heart. I gave myself totally over to him. There was no part of me that he could not have, no part of him that I did not want to pleasure and delight with my hands or my mouth. Finally I got us onto the bed. "I believe you mentioned something last night, Ray?" I said somewhat breathlessly, reclaiming my mouth briefly from his hungry tongue.

"Oh, yeah - okay. It's been a while, but...." He made to move down, but I stopped him. "Ben?"

"Ray, let me try - you can tell me what's good and what's not, surely?"

"But you've never done it before - it's not as easy as it looks."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to, if you don't mind."

He lay back, and put his hands behind his head, a bemused look on his face. "Hell no, I don't mind, if you don't. Go for it."

Faced with the reality of his hard and gently throbbing penis, my confidence deserted me slightly. But reminding myself that I am a Mountie, I bent to the task at hand - or mouth, to be precise. I was uncertain how to begin - the books I had read on this subject rather assumed the reader was already familiar with the procedure. I gave the silky glans a tentative lick and was gratified by a soft gasp from Ray. The pre-ejaculate was bitter but not repulsive. Since a single touch was so pleasurable to him, I experimented by licking and sucking the very top of his penis, which lifted his back off the bed. "Fuck, Ben - too much." Hmmm. Too sensitive. The term 'blow job' confused me - there seem to be no way 'blowing' would achieve anything. I took more of his organ into my mouth, which seemed to please him, and at the same time, I gripped the base, and moved my hand. "Oh, yeah, Ben, that's good." I moved my head, allowing a sucking motion over the top of the penis, one hand keeping up a slow rhythm below, the other stroking his scrotum gently and by the soft groans of approval, I gathered Ray was . . . pleased.

Gradually I managed to work out what he liked, and did not, guided by the sounds he made and the movements of his hips. Occasionally, he went too deep, which made me gag, but I quickly learned the rhythm. I was fascinated by the taste and feel of him, how deeply arousing it was to hear his noises of love, how I could actually sense his building climax even before his warning shout, and then the amazing sensation of his orgasm in my mouth. Such an unusual taste, so hot and salty and strange - but so right. So him. I continued to lick gently, until he protested, grown too sensitive. I let him go and moved up the bed, where he lay, eyes tightly shut.

"Are you all right, Ray? Was that okay?"

"Nnnnnnh."

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?"

"That's a 'where the *fuck* did you learn to do that, Mountie?'."

"I didn't," I protested. "I just ... went with the flow, I think is the expression you used."

He pulled me over him, and kissed me deeply. "Ben Fraser, I love you."

"And I you, Ray. Is this your way of saying you liked that?"

"No, it was terrible. You need to practice ... a whole lot."

"Oh. I can probably manage that. You know I don't like to do things badly."

"Oooh, no, you'll probably go straight to Mountie hell for giving bad head, Fraser."

"Very likely."

"You know, the best way to learn, after doing, is by watching, Ben."

"You don't say. And how might we achieve this?"

Thus it was that I learned that while it is undoubtedly blessed to give, it is equally wonderful to receive. I thought the events of the night before were pleasurable until I experienced fellatio for the first time. I had no way of knowing, of course, if Ray was particularly skilled, but I certainly had no complaints, barring the sad fact that one cannot delay an orgasm forever. I had never thought of myself as a particularly sexual person, but after experiencing making love with Ray twice now, I was seriously contemplating become high priest of a cult devoted to worshipping his talented hands, gifted mouth, and above all, his beautiful, sensitive penis. It seemed to be a personal goal of his to elicit as many animalistic sounds of passion and delight from me as he could with his slow torture, and to reduce me to a helpless puddle, begging him for more in a most undignified fashion. I think he detected my thoughts.

"Let go, Ben. There's no shame in this."

"I'm aware of that, Ray."

"Huh, if you can still make whole sentences, I'm doing something wrong," he said with a wicked, glorious grin, and devoted himself to greater efforts until I could no longer remember my own name, let alone the correct position of pronouns, verbs and adjectives.

"That's more like it," he said smugly, looking at my sweaty, aroused, and utterly blissful face.

"You ..." I couldn't speak. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to me, to kiss him and to whisper in his ear. "You son of a bitch, Ray Kowalski."

He laughed with delight. "I love it when you talk dirty, Ben." He flopped down next to me. "Guess you're not so cold, not in some things."

"Perhaps not, Ray. Perhaps not in anything."

He rolled and looked into my eyes, as he sometimes did, to verify the true meaning of what I had said. "I hope I'm there when you finally bust loose, Fraser." So did I, Ray. So did I.

Daylight brought plans for the camping trip and fresh insecurity. Ray wanted so much of me, even without making verbal demands. I began to wonder if spending three whole days with him was not going to be a mistake. What if he became frustrated at my inexperience in love, and as a lover? The weather forecast was also for much colder weather and possibly snow. I offered this as a possible reason for abandoning the idea.

"After all, Ray, if it's your first camping trip, you may find it more arduous than you care for."

"Are you saying I can't cut it, Fraser?" His voice burred with irritation. "I can cut it."

I decided to leave things be. We weren't going far, and we could leave early if things got beyond him.

I called Lieutenant Welsh. Their interrogation of Thompson had not elicited anything useful, but they had applied for a search warrant for his house. Enquiries were progressing at the hotels. All in all, things were ticking over, and our presence was not needed. I could be radioed if something urgent came up.

We left at dawn. I have an old but serviceable Jeep at which Ray was horrified, but which he grudgingly admitted was more useful than his sedan, which had suffered badly from the long journey up, and the roads. His car had sustained two flat tires and some body work damage already, and he would need to service it before he could drive home. I silently, selfishly, hoped that by some miracle the parts he needed might be unavailable for months, concocting a mad fantasy of him having to overwinter with me because of it. But I said none of this to Ray. It wasn't fair to him to exert undue influence this way.

There was a spot I'd discovered a couple of years ago on the McVicar Arm of Great Bear Lake that was hardly ever disturbed by fisherman or hunters or canoeists, for the simple reason that one approached it from the "road" after a five kilometre hike. Ray complained and grumbled, saying he was only city fit, but for all that, he kept a good pace and shouldered his share of the burden I allowed him. He was still recovering from the head injury and the chest gash, and I was feeling slightly protective of him, which annoyed him when he discovered what I was up to. But to my relief, he deferred to my greater knowledge, much as I would have done had I found myself on his home patch. Reaching our destination, he pulled out his glasses and put them on to better appreciate the sight, and whistled.

"Fuck," he said, with awe deepening his voice. "It's ... fuck...."

"Quite." If Ray was impressed by the lake, which is, I admit, spectacular, I longed to introduce him to glacier fields, and mountains, and the aurora borealis and all the other things which made my world so different from his, and which I needed like oxygen to live.

"This is ... wow. I'm so happy I came up here."

"As am I, Ray."

On impulse, he dropped his pack and gave me a warm, tight hug. "Thank you, Ben. This is what I need. I could really get things straight, looking at this, being with you." Ah, if only. If the beauty up here can heal, why had it not done so for me? But perhaps familiarity had inured me to its restorative powers.

I showed him how to erect the tent and we dug a latrine. The idea made him wince slightly. "I see the point of those long johns now."

"I know a great cure for frost-bitten private parts, Ray," I deadpanned, and was rewarded by a wonderful grin. "However, I don't think that'll be a problem, not yet at any rate."

"But we should practice - just in case, huh, Ben?" he said hopefully.

"My thoughts exactly, Ray."

Independent as he was, he seemed to relish being in the pupil role, and I for one, enjoyed immensely the task of teaching him basic woodcraft, the use of a compass, orienteering, map reading. He drank it all in, and for a college dropout, he had a remarkably retentive memory.

"Where did you learn all this stuff, Fraser? You get a handbook at birth on how to be a Canadian?"

"Well, in my case, something almost as good. My father is famous as a tracker, and his partner, Buck Frobisher, was nearly as good. I also was lucky to make friends with several of the local Inuit."

"That's like Eskimos?"

"Don't call them that, Ray - it's an offensive term."

"But we used to eat Eskimo pies," he protested.

"Yes, and the Australians have a cheese called 'Coon'. Doesn't make it right."

He nodded. "Okay, I get it. Inuit. Right." Another fact, filed away.

"Weren't you in the Scouts as a boy, Ray?"

"Nah. I was a geeky kid, glasses, small for my age. I spent most of my time getting beaten up. Then I got taller, learnt to box. Making a fire out of rocks wasn't important to me."

"Would you like me to show you how to do that?"

"What?"

"Make a fire out of rocks."

"Fraser, I was kidding ... exaggerating. You ever do that?"

"No. Do you want to learn or not?"

'Yeah - okay. Why not? Can't see me doing it in a city park in Chicago - by the time you step over all the drunks, it'd be time to go home. It's not like up here."

Then stay, I begged silently. But I set about showing him how to make a fire out of stones. There was a metaphor in there, somewhere.

As we were only staying for a short time, I brought rations with us. Opening a can of beans, Ray was curious.

"You ever hunt up here, Ben?"

"Sometimes. Only for food, not for sport. Not any more, at any rate."

"Yeah, I get that. That's not right, hunting for fun - right, Dief?" The wolf looked at him approvingly. There was nothing Diefenbaker would catch that he would not eat, or bring back to me for me to cook. Wolves do not hunt for sport.

The firelight made him look otherwordly, glinting like sparks off his blond, erratic hair, his eyes dark pools of unknowable depth. He was turned inward, looking at the flames, and I could guess what he was thinking about. Campfires had a similar effect on me, making me think of things long gone, people long missed. At last he sighed.

"I wish I'd come up here, before....you know, before all this stuff happened."

"So do I, Ray. But then, you and I might not have met."

"Yeah. I think we would though, somehow. Never clicked with anyone the way I clicked with you. Maybe Stella - different with her. You and me, its like a duet or something."

"An apt metaphor, I would say. A melody in counterpoint."

"Huh?"

"I was merely extending your musical imagery."

"Don't know no imagery from my elbow, Fraser. I just know we make a good team."

"Indeed. You ready to turn in?"

He shivered. "Gonna use that hole we made first - I'm not getting out of a nice warm sleeping bag to take a piss and fall over a fucking log."

Once he returned, and I too had taken advantage of the facilities, I zipped the sleeping bag together, to his approval. "If I'd known camping was all about getting all nice and close and toasty, maybe I would've joined the Scouts after all."

"This is not an approved sleeping position in the Boy Scouts, Ray. Especially when one of your troop is only an honorary male - we had to induct my friend's sister to make up the numbers."

He grinned at me. "You know, I got that Tom Lehrer song going through my head now, Ben."

I pretended I didn't know that one. "Go to sleep, Ray."

It seems strange to say it, but camping is one of the few times I get a full night's sleep. Diefenbaker doesn't need to be walked, and as he hunts, dog food is optional. We had turned in early - the night was too cold, even with a fire, to spend hours talking out of doors, and even a lover as inventive and enthusiastic as Ray could not delay sleep by more than a couple of hours. Thus it was that I awoke feeling well rested, and at peace, and smiled benevolently at my companion who slumbered on, a little grimace on his face.

That amiable mood lasted until about five minutes after Ray woke up, grumpy and tired. I'd forgotten he wasn't used to this. He had spent a cold and uncomfortable night, and his head was hurting again. I felt guilty at this - I had convinced him to come, after all, and set about making coffee, finding aspirin and generally pampering him. After the ingestion of caffeine, sugar and aspirin, something of his more usual good mood reappeared.

"Sorry, Ben. I'm a bear until I've had my coffee. The ground's harder than I thought it would be."

"I'm sorry, Ray. I'd forgotten you need to get used to it - the sleeping mats don't give much protection."

"But the man sized hot water bottle, I could get used to that. That was nice."

"Yes, it was. You get used to the rest of it, too."

"If I had time, I would," he muttered, in a low voice, almost out of the range of my hearing.

He had stiffened up too, after the hiking the day before, and I decided to take us on a slower, gentler route today. I had it in mind to teach him about the local flora that day, all part of the knowledge he would need if he ever wanted to spend serious time in these woods. We walked on largely in silence, save for my occasional lectures about the economic importance of one tree or another. He listened only with half an ear, which might have annoyed me if I hadn't known that he had a lot on his mind, and I probably was only adding to his burdens.

We stopped in a clearing for lunch, and Ray began to set a fire. "It'd be quicker if I did it," I said, unthinking.

He threw the kindling down he collected. "You know, you're so fucking self-sufficient, Fraser - no one can give you anything." He stalked off, and I realised that this wasn't just about him wanting to make a fire. I got it blazing, and went to find him.

He was sitting under a tree a short distance away, with his eyes closed. He heard my approach. "Ben, I want some privacy."

"Is your head hurting, Ray?" I sat down in front of him. He certainly looked as if he had a headache.

"No, my brain's hurting me. Are you deaf? Can't I sulk in peace?"

"Yes you can - if you tell me why you're sulking. Is it something I've done?"

"Now why would you think that, Mr Perfect 'I don't need anyone or anything' Mountie?"

"Why do you think I don't need anyone?"

"'Cos you don't. You don't need people, you don't need help to do anything, and you don't need me. Now, if you don't mind, I want a break. Alone."

I stood up, and resisted the temptation to either kiss the living daylights out of him or shake him until his teeth rattled. Honestly, what did he want me to do - feign incompetence to make him feel better? I thought of offering him lunch, but then I decided he was a grown man, and if he wanted lunch, he could get up off his backside and come and get it.

I finished my own lunch, cleared up and extinguished the fire thoroughly. We really needed to start on our way back, if we wanted to reach camp before dark. I raised my voice. "Ray, we need to get going. I'm leaving now, along the trail we followed." Nothing. "Dief will stay with you. You won't get lost, but don't delay too long." Still nothing. I knew he could hear me. Well, if that's the way he wanted to play it ... I picked up our solitary pack, and started back down the trail. After a few minutes, I could distantly hear him moving along, brushing the undergrowth. Dief would, I knew, raise the alarm if he got into difficulties, and the walk was not hard. We could both use some time away from each other.

It was a crystal clear afternoon, and the air was as crisp and as fresh as any I'd ever experienced, albeit with the distant hint of snow. My mind was half on Ray, half on the track, when suddenly I became aware that the fresh air was not as fresh as it had been. There was a distinct smell of oil in air. Not petroleum, but the thicker, dirtier aroma of machine oil. It was becoming progressively stronger as I drew close to our camp, and my puzzlement increased. Had there been an oil spill on the lake? Then the sound of men's voices came floating to me. Men, at least two, talking quietly. So my special spot had been discovered by hikers. It was rare at this time of the year, although not unusual, to encounter tourists. I would introduce myself, and hopefully they would move to an unoccupied area.

The plans for courtesy disappeared with the snick of a rifle catch, and a male voice saying, "That's far enough, Mountie." I stopped still. "Turn around."

I did as commanded, slowly, and saw I was being held up by a burly man in a checked jacket. Taller than me, and heavier. "Good afternoon, sir. Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. I'll have to ask you to lower your weapon."

"Quiet, Mountie. Where's your lady friend?"

"What lady friend?"

"The one who's sharing your bedroll. Double sleeping bag, two people. Stands to reason."

"There is no woman with me," I said truthfully, and as loudly as I dared. I hoped that Ray would not blunder into this trap. "May I ask why my presence concerns you?"

"Ask all you want. You'll get no answers. Move." There was no arguing with the man. He motioned me along, but we turned off before we got to our campsite, down a barely visible trail to a natural hollow in the rocks, about half a kilometre from my original destination. There were two men already there, opening oil barrels, which accounted for the smell.

"Got him, Jack. Strolled up as sweet as you please."

The one named Jack, also a giant of a man, seized the front of my jacket. "You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, Mountie." He knocked my Stetson off my head dismissively, and kicked it aside.

I ignored the insult to my hat. "Perhaps you would care to explain why?"

"Nope, not wasting time on you. Pete, tie him up."

The one called Pete, the one who had ambushed me, laid down his rifle to carry out his task, which gave me an opportunity to attempt my escape. I elbowed him in the face, and made a run for it. Unfortunately, the third man was a dab hand with rock throwing, and brought me down with a well-aimed stone. I fell heavily, stunned, and was hauled up roughly by Jack. He pulled me over to the still prone Pete, who was holding his face and groaning. He threw me down and made short work of tying my wrists and ankles together, then kicked me hard in the side for good measure, which made breathing difficult for a time. Pete struggled to his feet and also kicked me out of spite, which left me on my side, hardly able to breathe, and quite unable to call out.

Jack ordered the third man, Bob, to go and clear our campsite, and bring all our belongings back, and told Pete to stand guard. My dazed brain was struggling to find a way to warn Ray, but I was forced to the conclusion that I was as helpless as a kitten at the moment. However, as they had not shot me outright, I hoped they intended to move me, and at that point I would have a chance to get away or warn my still sulking partner. I wondered where he was. He had been only about ten minutes behind me but may have dawdled deliberately. Once he got to camp and found me gone, Dief should be able to find me without difficulty - but would Ray follow, or wait for me at the campsite, in which case he would be confronted with an armed and dangerous man?

I was lying facing my captor Pete, who had his back to the trail down which he had led me, so I was able to see the flash of white fur and red cloth which meant Ray and Dief had indeed discovered me. I made sure I showed nothing in my face as Ray came up behind the man, making an unnecessary hand signal to me to stay still.

"Excuse me," he said brightly to Pete, who turned and was immediately knocked down by a fine right hook. Diefenbaker had already flown across the clearing and was at Jack's throat, pinning him down effectively.

"You okay?" Ray asked, shaking his hand, which must have hurt considering the power he put into his punch.

"I'm fine. Thanks for coming."

"Oh, I thought I'd drop by, see how you were getting on." He sounded irritated, but he cut my bonds quickly with my boot knife, and gently poked the cut on my head with concern. "You hurt anywhere else?''

"Not that I'm aware of. Help me up." I couldn't help but stagger and wince slightly - I thought a rib might have been cracked.

"Shit, Fraser...."

"Never mind that. There's a third man..."

"He's out cold and tied up back at the campsite."

"Nice work, Ray. Now, if we can find a way to restrain these gentlemen, I can go and radio for assistance."

We had to use twine which was the only other binding the criminals had with them, but this was effective. I placed them under arrest, and while Ray tied up Jack, I looked in the drums that were already open, and tasted the contents.

"It's just oil - machine oil," I confirmed.

"Is there anything inside, maybe?"

I got a stick and lowered it - sure enough, there was something in the barrel, hidden by the fluid. "I can't empty this here, it's a pollution hazard. I need to radio Tulita detachment, and get help. I'm sorry to have to ask you to do this, as you're a civilian..."

"I'll watch them. Jesus fucking Christ, Ben. Did you think I wouldn't help? Go. Get on the horn." He seemed more cross than ever.

With relief, I took one of the rifles and made my way back to our campsite, located both Bob and the radio, and called in our position. I decided to pack up quickly as it would be dark before help arrived from Tulita. The heavy load made my ribs creak, but I managed to shoulder it and get Bob moving back to Ray's position. He swore when he saw me carrying the tent and pack.

"Are you trying to kill yourself, Mountie? Cos these guys coulda saved you the trouble." He took the burden off me and threw the pack near the smaller one, then went across the clearing where he could sit and guard our captives without speaking to me. The three men were no more talkative, refusing to answer even basic questions about their identity. I surmised that whatever was in the drums had been hidden there some time ago, and they had been attempting to retrieve it, but were alarmed to find campers - and at least one Mountie at that - virtually on top of them. I really still didn't understand Ray's anger - I was grateful, and relieved beyond words, that he had rescued me without harm to himself, but for the rest, I simply couldn't fathom it. I found that love apparently did not lead to instant perfect understanding of the beloved's psyche. Unfortunately.

We had to wait an hour for assistance, and it was dark and cold by the time the two Tulita officers arrived. I made a fire, carefully not looking at Ray, who made no move towards it. Sighing, I sat by it, poking it, and regretting the whole idea of this trip, even if it had led to the arrest of three malfeasants. I handed the criminals into the custody of the two constables from Tulita, and then Ray and I followed them to our jeep. Ray refused to let me carry the heavier pack, and my attempt to point out that he also was injured was met with a 1000 watt glare. The walk out was not easy in the dark, and I had to confess I was in more pain than I let even Ray know. When we reached the jeep, we arranged to return to the Tulita detachment tomorrow so I could make my report, and go back to examine the oil drums which we left in situ until daylight, and until a way could be found of emptying them and removing them.

We decided to return to Norman Wells, as there was no accommodation in Tulita, and both of us felt disinclined to camp out again that night. Ray put his hand out, to my puzzlement.

"Keys, Fraser."

"I can drive, Ray."

"Keys. You're in no fit state." I handed them over. "Why do you have to fight me on every damn thing, Fraser? It's getting old."

"I think you're exaggerating, Ray."

"And I think you've got a bump on your head and banged ribs and if you say another word, I'm gonna pop you one. Get it?"

I nodded, not wishing to put his threat to the test.

I refused to bother the nurses at the medical station - I am well used to dealing with my own minor injuries. Ray, tight-lipped, didn't push it, but drove us back home. He insisted on me removing my shirt before we unpacked the camping gear - there was certainly some spectacular bruising, but after consideration, I decided that nothing was in fact broken.

"Take some aspirin, Ben."

"I'm fine, Ray."

"Fraser, you're white as a sheet, you look like you're gonna puke, you can't stand up without groaning, so take some goddamn aspirin and go to bed. Even Superman had off days."

"I'm not Superman, Ray," I said mildly.

"No, Superman had flaws," he muttered, shooing me into the bedroom, making me lie down, insisting on undressing me, feeding me the painkillers, and then made to shut the door. "I'll sleep in the other room."

In the mood he was in, I thought that was no bad idea. "If you like." He closed the door. God help us, I thought.

I tried to sleep but couldn't. My ribs hurt too much for the aspirin to counteract, and I did have a rather bad headache. My heart ached too - Ray was angry with me, our friendship seemed to have split apart, and he seemed close to a physical explosion of frustration. I tossed and turned fretfully for over an hour before deciding some camomile tea might make me sleepy. I walked out through the darkened living room to the kitchen, and set the kettle to boil. To my surprise, I was shortly joined by Ray.

"What are you doing up, Ben?" He didn't look as if he'd been to bed - he was still dressed.

"I couldn't sleep. I thought some tea would help."

"Do you want me to make it?"

I almost refused automatically, then thought about his complaints during the day. "That would be kind, thank you."

I went back into the living room, and turned on the small lamp there. Dief was asleep on the rug, so I deduced Ray had been sitting there, rather than resting in his room. He brought the tea over, a cup for himself as well, to my surprise. He saw my look. "Thought I could try it - I wasn't sleepy either."

I sipped the tea, and the heat was soothing. I closed my eyes and let the warmth do its job.

"You still in pain?" he asked quietly.

"Some," I admitted. "The aspirin doesn't seem to help."

"Ribs are the worst, I remember that from boxing."

"Heads too."

"Yeah." He drank from his cup, and I noticed a small grimace.

"Not to your taste?"

"No - sorry." He seemed in a conciliatory mood, so I thought I might try to get to the bottom of what was troubling him.

"Ray, why are you so angry with me? I've been trying to think of what I could have done, but I suppose I'm just not good enough with people to work it out."

"You could say that. Look, it's not you. You're just you. It's me. Okay?"

"I didn't understand any of that - are you saying I haven't done anything?"

"Yeah."

"But you are angry, nonetheless."

"Not angry, Fraser," he tried to explain, trying to stay calm. "Just ... dunno ... wanting something I can't have ... wanting to be needed, I guess. You don't need me."

"That's true, Ray. But I want you."

He sat back on the chair, looking tired and defeated. "Stella wanted me too - to begin with. But when she figured she didn't *need* me any more, she went looking somewhere else."

"I'm not Stella."

"Doesn't much matter if you are or you're not, Ben. As soon as Thompson cracks, and I get my car fixed, I'm going home. So I don't know why I'm giving you such a hard time - it doesn't matter in the long run. I'm sorry, Ben. For being such a hardass."

"And I'm sorry too - I never really thanked you for saving my life. I was ... I am ... proud of you."

He actually blushed. "That hard to say?"

"Not in the least. You're my friend, and my partner, for however long. You did very good work today."

He was embarrassed but pleased at the compliment. "Yeah, I did, didn't I. Haven't lost the touch. What do you think those guys were up to?"

We talked some more about the possible contents of the drums, until I was yawning. Ray took my mug, and then my hand.

"Time to hit the hay for real, Fraser."

I pulled him closer. "Will you sleep with me?"

He leaned in and kissed me gently. "Yes. But sleep only, okay?" he said sternly. I nodded.

By morning, we'd both stiffened up from our exertions and respective injuries, and since I was technically off for the day, I allowed myself the luxury of simply allowing Dief out to run loose for a few minutes instead of taking him for proper exercise, and then slipped back into bed beside Ray. I couldn't stifle a groan at the way my ribs caught as I moved, and he stirred, and rolled over.

"You should get a doctor to look at them, Ben."

"There isn't a doctor here, and I'm pretty sure they're not broken."

"Let me check them, at least."

"All right." I sat up carefully, and he gently probed the injured area.

At last, he pronounced himself satisfied. "Yeah, you're right. Just bruised."

I slid down flat again, and he held me in his arms. "We gotta go to Tulita this morning?"

"I have to, yes. If you don't want to, I'll get your statement taken down here, and take it with me."

"Do you want me to come?"

Now, careful, Benton. "I would like your company, certainly, and I imagine you'd like to be there when we examine the drums. Also, I'd be happier if you drove." This last was a social lie - not that I wouldn't be happier, but there was no real reason for me not to drive. But it was the right thing to say.

"That's great! I mean, yeah, I'll help you." He got up. "I'm gonna shower. Back in a minute."

I smiled as he left the room. It seemed it took as little to please him as it did to anger him, and I was beginning to get a handle on him. If we had the time to explore each other, I was sure these little differences would soon be ironed out - we got along very well most of the time. The problem was that I couldn't tell how much longer I would have him here - perhaps as little as a week, perhaps for months. Such uncertainty caused a tension in me which probably contributed to his changeable mood. I should just enjoy it while I could - don't ruin things through anticipating grief, I told myself.

Once in Tulita, we both gave our statements and were told the men were being charged with assault and kidnapping - at least until the contents of the mysterious drums were unveiled. It was decided to take them off the same way they were undoubtedly delivered - from the river - and Ray and I were taken up to the lake in the detachment boat. Spare oil drums were conveyed as well as a pump so the suspicious containers could be drained.

The reason for the criminals' violent attempts to conceal their activities soon became apparent, as the oil was removed.

"Shit," Ray said simply.

"Indeed," I replied, as bar after bar of American Federal Reserve gold was carefully removed and placed in evidence boxes. Transporting the oil drums and the gold took all morning - there were a hundred gold bars in five drums. In the end, three oil drums were left behind for a return trip, in which we were not obliged to participate. It was clear that the gold must have been stolen at some earlier date and secreted, ready for the men to claim it. We had interrupted that, and incidentally probably prevented a small scale pollution disaster, since I imagine they would not have disposed of the oil drums with the care the RCMP was taking. My Tulita colleagues would be able to handle the investigation of the serial numbers and I had no doubt the criminals would be soon charged with robbery as well.

Ray was elated as we drove back to Norman Wells. "Wow, Fraser - a bullion robbery. And we got 'em!"

"Yes, it was good work."

"How much do you think that's all worth?"

"Hard to say, Ray, with the fluctuation in gold prices. Probably at least half a million dollars - Canadian, of course."

"What's that in real money, Ben?"

"Don't be snide, Ray. It doesn't suit you."

Ray's cheerfulness lasted until I made a report to my own detachment, where I found a fax from the Chicago PD to say that investigations had shown that Andrew Fox had stayed at a hotel less than half a mile from Ray's father's workshop for two nights prior to the murder - and had checked out the morning after. I thought Ray would be delighted at the news, but oddly, it seemed to depress him.

"It's the first positive link of Fox to your father's case, Ray."

"I know that, Fraser. I used to be a cop too - I can work things out."

"Well, forgive me, but you don't seem very pleased."

"I am. It's great." But his depression lasted all day, and although he slept with me that night, he was in no mood for lovemaking, or even to be held much. I despaired of ever getting to the root of what was troubling him.

Ray was to start at Charlie's the next day, and we had lost our chance for at least a week to really talk. I saw him at headquarters for lunch, but he was unwilling to hang about as before. I knew he went off on long walks with Dief - the wolf had not been so well exercised since I came to Norman Wells. I offered to meet Ray after work, but he forbade it. "Ben, you'll get about five hours sleep if you do that. I'll see you during the day. That's enough." But it wasn't. I could feel him slipping through my fingers. Perhaps, I thought, it was for the best, this detaching process. He undoubtedly felt the pain of separation would be lessened, and I wanted to spare him as much as possible. I only wished his time up here had been more pleasant. I wished, too, that I had kept things on a platonic level, for his sake. My own heart, I could ignore in this. I had recovered before. I would do so again, and would need to, soon enough. All too soon.

The DNA result came through on Wednesday, confirming Thompson's presence at the farmhouse. With this crucial piece of evidence, the whole thing unravelled very quickly. Thompson's insistence that he had been nowhere near Norman Wells changed to a claim that he had been there but that he had left before Fox was murdered. It didn't take long to break this down too, and he finally confessed to the murder. Under threat of charges of being an accessory to murder, Terence Hanson admitted a business connection to Fox, and that he knew Fox and Thompson had been in communications via him. The motive became clear when Ray suggested we check if Hanson or Fox had dealings in cars, or car parts. It transpired that Thompson and Fox were involved in a much larger syndicate organising the stealing to order of luxury cars and transporting them across the border. Julian Polansky was a rival, and so had been killed - he'd simply been pushed into the river by Thompson. Ray's father had stumbled across the sideline of using stolen parts in Thompson's chain of shops, and, perhaps foolishly, had challenged him rather than going to the police. Thompson put Ray's father off for a few days, long enough to arrange the 'murder swap'.

I was able to tell him the last piece of the puzzle when he came in for lunch. "He's being extradited as soon as we can arrange it. You did it, Ray. None of this would have come to light without you."

"Yeah. Great." The news seemed to be of little consequence to him, which I found astounding, considering the energy he had put into the investigation. He stood up.

"Ben... I ... need to walk. Okay?" He left without another word.

As soon as my shift ended, I went across to Charlie's. Ray was stacking glasses and not looking at me. Charlie greeted me cheerfully, and told Ray to take a break. Ray scowled but came over.

"Not here," he said shortly.

We walked a hundred yards or so down the road. "So, what, Fraser?"

"Nothing, Ray, " I said, somewhat hurt. "I just came in to see how you were."

His anger suddenly deflated. "Oh, fuck, I'm sorry, Ben. I thought.... Oh, hell, who cares. I'm okay."

"Are you? You don't look it. I thought you'd be happier than this, but it seems the closer we got to solving the case, the more miserable you've become."

He walked on a bit, arms folded, trying to decide whether to answer me, and what to say. "Ray, it's all right if you don't want to talk. I don't want to hurt you."

He turned back to me. " I know you don't, Ben. It's me, I'm fucked up. I'm fucked - that's the real reason. I've been chasing this for weeks, it's all I thought I wanted, even more than I want you. I kept saying, I catch this guy, I'll feel better. I'll have made it up to Mum and Dad. But I just feel... dunno. Empty. Like I got nothing to live for now." He turned away from me, and I had a suspicion why. I stepped up behind him, and made him turn, then I could see his eyes.

"Ray," I said quietly. "It's all right. You've got your whole future in front of you. Once the news sinks in ...."

"It's sunk in, okay?" He dashed the tears out of his eyes, angrily and turned his back on me. "But I got no future. I go home and then what?"

Don't go, I pleaded.

"What did you say?" He whirled round to me.

"Nothing... I didn't say anything," I stuttered.

"You did - you said, " 'Don't go'."

In my shock I made things worse. "I didn't mean it ... I mean, I didn't mean to say that." Oh dear, that sounds...

His face suddenly closed off from me. "No, I didn't think you did, Fraser," he said in a defeated voice, and turned back towards the bar. "Look, I'll see you later. Tomorrow. Don't wait up." He walked off quickly, leaving me standing alone in the cold, empty road. Dear God. What mistake haven't I made with this man?

I walked home with Dief, but on impulse, I sent him back to Ray. Charlie didn't mind the wolf, provided he didn't spend too much time begging for snacks. Ray needed the company more than me.

I cooked a solitary supper which tasted of nothing, and whose contents I could not recall ten minutes after I ate. I picked up an RCMP publication, and stared at it for a long while, before putting it down, not a single word having penetrated my brain. Go to bed, Benton. Things will be clearer in the morning. Or not, as the case may be.

I was just coming out of the bathroom, when I heard a knock at the door. Puzzled, I got my robe and opened the door to Charlie.

"Hello, Ben. Oh dear, I'm sorry. You're off to bed. I'll..."

"No. Charlie, it's fine. Come in." He came in reluctantly, but I knew that such a rare visit must mean some thing important was on his mind. I could guess what.

"Tea?" He nodded. "I imagine you're here about Ray. Am I right?"

"Yes, of course. The lad's in a state, and no mistake. I tried to get him to go home, but he insisted on staying as usual. What's happened?"

"He didn't tell you?" I was really surprised - I thought Ray and Charlie were friends. "We finally solved his father's murder today. Wrapped the whole thing up, thanks to him."

"Christ, Ben - he didn't say a word to me about it."

I brought our tea over and we sat facing each other in the living room.

"So I suppose he'll be going home."

I sighed heavily. "So he says. He has no plans that I can tell, once he gets back, but he's not said anything about not going home."

Charlie frowned. "That's not good, Ben. That worries me, it really does. I saw this when I was in the army, you know. Men who spent twenty years in the army get out and suddenly they lose the will to live. Ray reminds me a lot of that."

"Yes, I can see what you mean. He said he didn't know what to do with himself anymore, now the murder was solved."

"Why did he leave the police force, did he tell you?"

I suppose I was breaking a confidence, but bartenders are rather like father confessors - and more discreet. I told him about the woman for whose death Ray felt responsible.

Charlie was horrified. "My God - then his parents died. It's a wonder he's still with us. I like the lad a hell of a lot. I'd be sorry to see him go back to Chicago and put a bullet through his brain."

"Do you think he might?"

"Off hand, I'd say there's every possibility."

"I wish he'd stay." My admission surprised him as much as the making of it did me.

"To tell the truth, Ben, so do I. I'm thinking of retiring, and I mentioned to Ray that the bar might be just the thing for him. But he said he had nothing to stay for. Now, I'm wondering, is that right?"

Charlie was being delicate, but I wasn't going to bare my soul quite that much. "It's up to him, Charlie. He's a grown man."

"Och, so he is, and so are you, and so are we all. But it doesn't mean we don't need a little help from our friends at times. One can be too self-reliant, I learnt a long time ago. Did you never wonder why I never married, Ben?"

"No, to be honest, the thought never crossed my mind. But why?"

He sipped from his cup, and his eyes got a faraway look in them. "There was a girl for me, when I was a young man, and Ben, let me tell you, I would have given up the world for her. But she deceived me, and she broke my heart. I swore not to let that happen again, and so I didn't. But now, look at me. I'm seventy-three, did you know that, Ben? I'm bald, and arthritic, and my left hip predicts the weather - and I'm alone. And I'm wondering, what did I give up, to spare myself some pain. "

"Charlie, he's an adult."

The apparent non-sequitur did not confuse him. "Ben, I'm just telling you what I see. I'm worried about a mutual friend. What we do ... what you do about it, is up to you." He stood up, as did I.

"I appreciate you coming by, Charlie."

"I'll keep an eye on him. He can't come to much harm up here. Oh - forget I said that." We grinned at each other. Perhaps he should have said, 'any more harm'.

I said good night to Charlie, but instead of going to bed, I sat back on the sofa and thought about what he had said. Charlie was, as usual, as subtle as a brick - I knew perfectly well what he was trying to say. But he was right about one important thing. I had been waiting for Ray to make his own decision, without my influence. He'd given enough hints, but seemed unable to make the last step. I had convinced myself that to ask Ray to stay would be selfish. Now I saw that not to do so was the greater sin. The captive didn't know the cage door was open, that with a single bound he could be free. I had to coax him out with fair words and hope. Lose the pride, Benton, I told myself. You need him. I could finally admit that to myself, here in the privacy of my own home.

Ray didn't come to bed with me that night, nor to the station for lunch. My ill-timed remark yesterday had wounded him deeply, and I hadn't had a chance to explain. I made some phone calls and arrangements, then went to the bar after work. Ray didn't bother to conceal his irritation at my presence. "Fraser, I got a job to do here."

He moved to the other end of the bar to finish cleaning it, ignoring me. I waited patiently. I had, after all, plenty of time, and it was a small bar. When he could no longer pretend that the perfectly wiped surface needed his attention, he came back.

"Fraser," he hissed, "buy a fucking drink or clear out."

"All right, Ray. A glass of scotch, please." The look of shock on his face was almost comical.

"You serious?"

"Perfectly. Which ever's the best. And one for yourself, too, if you don't mind." He glared at me, and chose the most expensive one on display, telling me the price with almost insolent glee. I ignored him, and sipped the stuff, finding it as raw and powerful as usual. Seeing I was serious about drinking it, he tasted his own. He obviously liked it, but wasn't going to give me the pleasure of seeing it.

"You turning into an alkie, now, Fraser?"

"Not on your account, Kowalski," I retorted, deliberately matching his rude tone. I'm sure he thought he ought to be fetching Charlie to tell him there was an insane Mountie sitting in the bar. Fortunately the room was empty. I could afford to play his game.

"Why the fuck are you here, Fraser? You made yourself pretty clear yesterday."

"No, actually I didn't. You have a habit of jumping to conclusions, and making extrapolations from insufficient data. Bad habits in a former cop, I should say."

"Did you come in here just to tell me I suck?"

"Not entirely, no. Look at this." I handed him the fax from the airline. He glanced at it and threw it back down.

"You didn't read it, Ray."

"I haven't got time for this, Fraser."

"I'm trying to save you time. If you'd bothered to look at it carefully, you'd see it's a flight booking for you to Chicago. You can leave next week."

"Running me out of town, Mountie?" He was beginning to get very angry.

"Ray, you keep saying you're going home to Chicago. Your car is not in a fit state to make that journey. I was merely attempting to assist you."

"I need that car, Fraser."

"And it will be perfectly safe up here, I assure you. There's cold weather storage available."

"And I'm just supposed to come back next year in the spring and pick it up."

"If you like, yes. The ticket is open."

"Show me that thing." He snatched the fax out of my hand. "Fraser, you've screwed up here. You haven't booked a return, you booked two return tickets."

I took the paper back off him, and looked at it. "Oh, so I have.' He took a sip of his drink, smirking at catching me in a mistake. "The second ticket is for me." He choked on his Scotch.

"You?" he squeaked, coughing.

I waited until he'd finished. "Why yes, Ray. I thought I could help you pack." Now he really did have a problem breathing.

"What the ... fuck it, Fraser... just say what you're saying and stop friggin' around."

I took pity on him. "Stanley Raymond Kowalski, do you love me?"

He eyed me suspiciously. "Yeah, guess so. Dunno why, sometimes." A more ringing endorsement one could hardly imagine.

"And have you not indicated on several occasions that you are unhappy in Chicago and have nothing to go back for?"

"Yeah, but that's..."

"'Yes' will do, Ray. And finally, do you have any objection to living with me here, for as long as you want, as my lover and as my friend?"

"You.... you're asking me... Fraser!"

"I'll take that as a 'yes', shall I? So shall I cancel the booking or keep it?"

"Charlie! Bar!" Charlie came out, grinned at me and at Ray, and told him to take a break - outside.

Ray dragged me outside, and into the shadows, and proceeded to kiss the stuffing out of me, and in the process, kicking over the last crumbling bricks of my prison walls, taking the step through his own cage door, and walking into freedom. Together.

"Ray, people..." I murmured, when I could get my mouth free.

"Fuck people," he growled.

"What a charming idea, Ray."

When at last he had expressed his emotions to his own satisfaction, and was merely holding me instead of trying to squeeze the life out of me, I had something else to tell him.

"I'm going to ask for two months' leave next spring."

"Why? "

"Because I want to find the hand of Franklin, and I want you to come with me."

"The one ... the reaching out hand?"

"That one, yes. Or we can go somewhere else. I want to take you on your adventure, and I want you to stay with me. I need you, Ray Kowalski."

"Not just 'want'?"

"No, 'need'. I need your heart, your love. I need you."

"Finally worked it out, eh, Ben?"

"I am a Mountie, Ray. I am a trained observer."

"You are a fucking freak." But he said it with affection, and then kissed me.

When I could free my lips, I answered him. "Understood."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written nearly twenty years ago under another pseudonym. It hasn't been revised since then.
> 
> I am posting this and my other stories from this period purely so people can read them if they choose. I won't be reading comments, and don't care if you leave kudos. I'm dumping them and running.
> 
> Having said that, I worked hard on them, and I hope they still entertain someone out there.


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